Azruphel
by ellak95
Summary: A young girl raised to follow Sauron and the Nazgûl gets a chance to see the other side when she meets a prisoner named Strider.
1. A New Family

I do not own _Lord of the Rings_, or any of Tolkien's characters. Any characters and plot lines I create are mine.

**A/N:** This is my first AU story and _Lord of the Rings _story. I had this idea floating around in my head for years, and fanfiction actually gives me the chance to put it down. I have a Nazgûl obsession. When reading, I always have a curiosity with what is considered to be the "evil" side. I search for empathy in evil characters. I like to think that while the Nazgûl are under the influence of Sauron, they still retained a part of their humanity. I hope you enjoy this story.

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**Chapter 1: A New Family**

**2999 Third Age**

Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone, yet only three remained, the other four having been consumed by dragon fire. Seven rings that had failed to bring the Dwarves under Sauron's control. It was failure, the only way to describe what had occurred. The Nine had fallen under his control, but the Seven had fallen to their own desires. Nothing was gained, save the three rings without bearers to sway.

Clearly he had underestimated, or perhaps even overestimated the Dwarf-lords, depending on how one would look at it. He had underestimated their strength against his will, but overestimated their strength against greed for wealth. It was a setback, but it proved something. Men were easily corrupted by power, and so the three rings that remained would be reserved for men alone. Sure, power could be bought by wealth, and certainly this was the way those pitiful beings which were named great kings came into their titles. The Dwarf-lord had only focused on the wealth, and using the power that came with it to gain more. That was the difference, and the downfall of those men. It was why he had nine loyal servants, and not sixteen. But he could have twelve. Who to pick, however? They needed to be representatives of each country. Gondor being first, the prize. Especially one of Númenórean race would be ideal. Better yet, one of the Dúnedain. How he would love to corrupt them, and the ultimate being the heir of Isildur, still hidden in the wild. Yes, he would find Isildur's heir, and offer him a prize for his nobility. If he was anything like his ancestors, he would fall, and if not him then his children. Next would be one of the Haradrim, or an Easterling, which would not be difficult at all. They were already sided with him. The trick, of course, would be convincing one of royal blood to take a ring. It would take persuasion, but Sauron knew that would not be a problem. He had deceived the Elves once, those servants would be no problem.

And finally, one ring would go to one from Rohan. It would be no problem convincing someone from Rohan, those horse peasants were weak. He already had one within his grasp.

**One Week Earlier**

Éomund had the perfect example of a Rohirrim family, a wife and three beautiful children. Éomer was eight, already beginning to learn the basics of sword fighting and becoming an accomplished rider. He would make a warrior one day, and a Marshall as he was the nephew of the King. Éowyn was four, and becoming an outgoing young girl, preferring battle games with her brother and rides on her pony instead of dressing up with the other young girls in Edoras. Finally, there was the youngest, Éoryn, who at two years old loved nothing more than to go for rides with her father.

This was what Éomund was doing, taking Éoryn on a journey through the pastures near Edoras, where the best horses were bred and raised to serve the Rohirrim. Waves of green and gold whipped across the grassy plain with each gust of wind, and the two were wrapped in extra clothes to protect from the colder weather. The little girl being held in front of her father clasped the silver-grey mane in front of her, as the tall dappled-grey stallion pranced in front of the herd. There were horses of every size and color, and the foals from spring were growing up fast and becoming stronger with each passing day. Éomund stopped near a specific herd, knowing that Éoryn would want to visit one particular mare and colt. Both were tall and coal black, and though black horses were not highly praised in Rohan, Éomund did not discourage his daughter. There seemed to be no evil in either horse, and Éomund had already looked into purchasing the colt for Éoryn. Both Éomer and Éowyn had their own horses, having connected to certain foals at a young age. While Éowyn was too small to begin training her young horse, Éomer had been riding Firefoot for years. He allowed Éoryn to continue on to the young horse, smiling to himself as he thought of the look on the little girl's face if she knew the horse would be hers.

Éomund was broken from his imagining by three approaching black dots over the plain. It appeared to be three riders, clothed in black on black horses. He rose to meet them, placing Éoryn on a rock nearby so he could keep an eye on her and she wouldn't be accidentally stepped on.

"Hello," he called as they approached and, seeing as though they were travelers, he added, "What brings you to Edoras?"

The first thing that struck him as odd, following of course, the dress of the travelers, was the response of, "We have come for black horses."

Éomund was immediately concerned, as he remembered the servants of Mordor had come once for horses, specifically black ones. He began to calculate his chances in a fight, but seeing as Éoryn was a few feet away, he decided against an immediate conflict. "I am not the owner," he chose to respond. "I cannot sell any of these horses to you. If you wish, I can go to Edoras and return with him." Éomund hoped the rider would take him up on the offer. He did not want to risk his life, his daughter's life, or the safety of Edoras for a few horses, especially if his warning was the only thing that could save others.

"We did not come to buy," was the response he received.

"Well, then I will have to ask you to move along," Éomund said, his voice beginning to betray his fear. The rider just laughed, before raising his sword. Éomund drew his.

"You dare to defy me?" the rider asked mockingly, and when Éomund had no answer, the rider charged, swinging at Éomund. The others followed, surrounding Éomund. He was quickly overwhelmed, and it was the leader who delivered the final blow. The three then separated, collecting the black colts from the heard, who tried to run in fear. The shrill whinnies surely could have been heard for miles, but they eventually succumbed to the will of their new masters. The three riders were about to depart when they heard a quiet voice come from the ground.

"Daddy?"

The voice came from a little girl sitting a few feet from where her father lay dead. She could not have been older than two, and looked at the unmoving form covered in the red substance that she was too young to recognize as blood. It was one of the others who approached her first, yet unlike other people she did not cower in fear of the black riders, either because she was not affected by their power or did not understand that they were Nazgûl.

"What should we do with her?" came the voice of one of the Nazgûl, which to any outside ear would sound thin and raspy. Uvatha's voice was not actually thin or even raspy to the ears of Adûnaphel, who had approached the little girl.

"We should leave her," came a third voice. This was Khamûl, who was in charge of their mission and was unsure of the interest Adûnaphel had taken in the little girl.

"You want to just let her die? She is all alone out here, and you want to just leave her?" Adûnaphel practically shrieked.

"Well, the what do you propose? You are not her mother, Adûnaphel, and Er-Murazor would never approve!" Khamûl yelled back, just as the little girl began to cry. Adûnaphel leaped from her horse and scooped up the girl, whose cries began to cease. Khamûl looked at the child. It was strange. Most children would cry harder when close to the Nazgûl.

"Enough, both of you. We take her near Edoras and leave her where someone will find her," Uvatha said. Adûnaphel looked horrified.

"They won't take her back! Not when we have been near her!" Adûnaphel knew how all men treated the Nazgûl, and if they were no return a child to the Rohirrim, they would think of her as tainted. The girl would most likely be killed.

"I do not know why I am agreeing to this. We will take her, and let Er-Murazor decide." Khamûl said. He felt strange, and he secretly did want a child. "We must be going."

**Present**

Sauron had been surprised when three of his servants had shown up with a toddler. Uvatha and Adûnaphel were quite taken with this young human, and even Khamûl had warmed up to her. The others had taken some convincing, and Er-Murazor had a long discussion with Khamûl after, but it was too late to take the child back. The little girl was becoming fond of her new family, taking to Adûnaphel as a mother and, as a surprise to everyone, Khamûl had agreed to be her father. Adûnaphel named her Azruphel, even though the girl was not Númenórean. Though Sauron was still skeptical, he could see how he would work little Azruphel into his plans.

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**A/N: **There you go, chapter 1. A few notes on naming of characters: Éoryn is not a name you will see very often, but I will provide some explanation. I chose "Éo" as the beginning of her name to match the names of her siblings. The ending of "ryn" comes from an Anglo-Saxon dictionary. I derived it from the word "ryne" (pretend there is an accent above the "y"). It means 'the mystery', which is fitting for two reasons. Éoryn is a mystery to the Nazgûl, and her identity is a mystery to herself (as she will go by the name Azruphel). The names I give the Nazgûl come from the Middle-earth Role Playing games. Er-Murazor is the Witch-King and a Númenórean. Under him are Khamûl, the Easterling, Dwar of Waw, Ji Indur Dawndeath, Akhorahil (a Númenórean), Hoarmurath of Dir, Adûnaphel the Quiet (a female Númenórean), Ren the Unclean and Uvatha the Horseman.

Please review!


	2. Friendships and Tensions

I do not own _Lord of the Rings_, or any characters within it. Any characters and plot lines I create are mine.

**A/N: **Here we are with chapter two. We have now jumped seventeen years to 3016 Third Age, with a nineteen year old Azruphel. Enjoy!

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**Chapter 2: Friendships and Tensions**

**3016 Third Age**

"Khamûl!"

The Nazgûl turned upon hearing his name, the black cloak making a nearly silent noise as it brushed the cold, stone floor. Adûnaphel was moving swiftly, almost gliding across the floor like a ghost. Then again, they nearly were ghosts.

"Have you seen Azruphel?"

"No, and you won't see her, probably not for a few days. Er-Murazor wanted to meet with her for training. You know how she gets after that."

The Witch-King had decided a year ago that Azruphel was ready to carry her ring. The then eighteen year old had been ecstatic, taking at as a right of passage. Er-Murazor had then put Azruphel in personal training for basic sorcery, which Azruphel had not been excelling in at all. Normally after a lesson, Azruphel would disappear for several days before one of the Nazgûl would finally track her down, meaning at that point she could be anywhere in Mordor.

"Will you talk to her? When she gets back, that is," Adûnaphel asked. Khamûl nodded, wondering where he should begin. It was difficult to explain to Azruphel that there were some parts of her life that she would not excel at. She took to sword fighting like she was born to, and seemed to absorb language. She knew most Middle-earth languages, except Elvish, as no one was willing to teach her. She was becoming an expert negotiator, and would be an incredible asset to Mordor. The only things other than these new lessons that Azruphel could not do was archery (it was not that she couldn't, she just preferred not to) and swimming. With archery, Azruphel could at least hit a target when she did not hit center, but swimming challenges had left her with a fear of water so great that she would not go near it unless she had to.

Khamûl sighed. He wondered where she would be this time.

*****Azruphel*****

"Ready for our duel?"

The orc to whom the question was directed jumped and looked at the nineteen year old in a slightly fearful manner, and Azruphel could not help but giggle. The girl, now a young woman, had an annoying habit of sneaking up on people. Shagrat may be in charge at Cirith Ungol, but he still submitted to Azruphel when she came for visits.

"I have work to do, Human," Shagrat stated, hoping to get away from her. As he turned away and started up the stairs, Azruphel followed.

"You aren't afraid, are you?"

Shagrat turned back to her. Azruphel was not like all the other Nazgûl. For starters, she did not need a long black cloak to give herself shape and cover the transparency. Azruphel may ride with the Nazgûl, but she was still very much human. She wore mail and a simple leather shirt, long pants, and boots for the most part, though they were still of a black color. She rarely wore the long traveling cloak. She also appeared to carry only one sword, but Shagrat knew better. There was at least one knife hidden somewhere, probably more. From a distance, she looked like a man, however Shagrat knew that was not a concern of Azruphel's.

"Why would I be afraid? I told you once, I have work to do."

"You are in Cirith Ungol. Unless you are tracking down another unfortunate orc who happened upon Shelob, or breaking up a petty fight, then you aren't doing anything at the moment. Besides, I haven't been up here in a while, and I seem to recall you wanting a rematch after our last fight," Azruphel simply stated, knowing that attacking Shagrat's pride would eventually lead to a fight, planned or otherwise.

Shagrat stopped and considered. "Courtyard. Ten minutes."

Azruphel was already in the courtyard when Shagrat returned, and the two began, attracting the attention of several orcs until there was a circle around them. There was a time when Shagrat would have to go easy on Azruphel, but she had grown into an accomplished swordsman and had to now back off on Shagrat. Every move was precise and calculated, and she moved gracefully from an offensive to defensive stance without missing a beat. They ended quickly, with the tip of Azruphel's sword centimeters away from Shagrat's throat. Azruphel smiled knowingly, and then challenged the rest of the company to a quick duel. When none moved, she dismissed them as frightened, and no one challenged her assumption. While Azruphel beating Shagrat should have been a sign of weakness on Shagrat's part, the courage he showed by facing her meant more than his defeat. Though she was disappointed that the fight had ended so quickly, Azruphel decided instead to allow her friend a little honor by only beating him once.

Shagrat's and Azruphel's friendship was one of the most unusual friendships in Mordor. Shagrat considered Azruphel to be an arrogant child while Azruphel thought Shagrat was a greedy bastard. Their friendship began the first time Azruphel had become frustrated and ran from Minas Morgul. Few knew about the tunnels that ran from Minas Morgul to Cirith Ungol, but Azruphel, who knew every secret of the tower, had followed them after a bad day. As she searched for food in Cirith Ungol, Shagrat found her. What he was going to do to her, Azruphel never asked, but he was interrupted by a dispute in the courtyard over a stolen knife. Azruphel had scanned the crowd of orcs while Shagrat argued with the disgruntled orc, and identified the culprit by the fact that the particular orc was the only one not interested in the situation. The orc charged Azruphel, who proved herself to be a rather formidable opponent, but as her size was becoming an issue, Shagrat had jumped to her aid. From then on, Azruphel's presence kept the peace in Cirith Ungol, and mutual respect slowly turned to a weird friendship.

"So, why are you here this time," Shagrat began.

"The great and powerful leader of the Nazgûl is an annoying, pretentious wraith who does not understand that I have only been alive for nineteen years, not hundreds like he has."

"I figured it was him. That is why you were here the last time."

"He just doesn't understand that sorcery comes easily to him because he has been a Nazgûl for a long time," Azruphel complained.

"Go whip him or something," Shagrat suggested.

"What is it with orcs and whips?" Azruphel teased. "Sure, that would go over very well. And if it even hurt him, I would be dead before I even got close. I don't know. He never really respected me. The others do, but not the Great Er-Murazor."

With that, they changed the subject, until it was time for Shagrat to return to his duties, and Azruphel resigned herself to returning home. It was not long until she ran into Khamûl, the last person she wanted to see.

"I heard today's lesson did not go as planned," he called without preamble.

"Did you hear it from him?" Azruphel asked.

"Your mother told me."

"Oh."

"She wants me to talk to you."

"That's nice," Azruphel yawned, sitting down on a rock. Khamûl sat next to her, and watched as she played with the magnificent ring hanging around her neck. She took it off when she wanted to disappear.

"You know, every Ring has a unique quality. No, listen!" he said when Azruphel rolled her eyes. "What Er-Murazor is doing is introducing you to -"

"- to every 'quality' to see if it works, I know already. I have heard this speech before."

"What was today's lesson on?"

"He was trying to get me to conjure fire on an object. And before you ask if anything happened, I was able to light a candle."

Khamûl was surprised. Azruphel had no luck previously on anything related to sorcery. "Well, that is very good."

"Not to him! He thinks that I should be able to burn a house down already!" Azruphel was practically yelling.

"Listen to me. Er-Murazor never was able to show anything relating to praise. He may be proud, but he does not know how to show it. Keep at the lessons for a while, for me! If it does not work, then it does not work. We will find what works for you."

Azruphel sat in silence for a while, thinking about what Khamûl had said. How would a man who had lived hundreds of years with adults know how to act around a child? It was not surprising that he knew nothing of praise. Azruphel would have to think it over.

Looking at Khamûl, she simply said, "Thank you, Father."

Khamûl was startled. Azruphel rarely thanked anyone for anything, and Khamûl paused before responding.

"You are welcome."

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**A/N:** An unlikely friendship for Azruphel in the form of Shagrat, however it seemed fitting that she would connect more with orcs, who are more mortal beings and understand what it means to not be invincible. Also, I am going off the idea that the Nazgûl faded over time to Sauron's influence. While Azruphel is on Sauron's side, her strong, possible subconscious, will is keeping her from fading quickly.

Please review!


	3. Respect

I do not own _Lord of the Rings_, or any of Tolkien's characters. Any characters and plot lines I create are mine.

**A/N:** Man, what a week. I have the whole week off from school, Senior night is now an afternoon in case the stadium doesn't have power (though I suspect it does by now) and I had a panic moment when my wifi was NOT WORKING! But now it is. I even had a whole plan, I was going to go over to a friend's house, and from there I would upload a chapter, answer email, and perhaps apply for college except that all of them pushed back deadlines due to Hurricane Sandy. I also had forty-eight hours of no power in which my house temperature dropped ten degrees, resulting in me spending my days trying to learn guitar and rereading _The Hunger Games_ under a snuggie. Halloween is cursed, the same thing happened to us last year except with a snowstorm. Alright, my rant is done, here is chapter 3.

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**Chapter 3: Respect**

Azruphel had returned to her room that night, much to the delight of Adûnaphel. She threw her bag in a corner and undid her scabbard from her belt, placing that with a little more care by her bed. She did not remove the knife hidden in her boot, or the short sword that also hung at her side. No matter where she was or who she was with, orcs were still orcs, and the protection was worth it.

Now she had to decide what to do until the meeting that night. Every week, the ten of them met to relay news about the enemies or their army. It usually did not last long, as not much had occurred the last few months. Azruphel decided to go down to the stables, knowing she would meet up with Uvatha. Uvatha the Horseman, as he was referred to by some, was the best horse trainer in Minas Morgul. He had taught Azruphel to ride, and was like an uncle to her. Azruphel normally went to him when she wanted to talk, and even though her previous discussion with Khamûl had been helpful, she still really wanted his company. As expected, she found him riding his horse in the lower arena, and observed as he took the horse through a complicated series of turns.

"You want to grab your horse and join me, or are you going to just stand around and watch?"

Azruphel could not help but smile. Because of the rings, the Nazgûl could tell where each other was all the time. It was the main reason why Azruphel would sometimes take hers off. She still had to get used to the feeling.

"I did not want to interrupt, but I was hoping you would notice. Let me just grab him and I will join you."

Azruphel turned down to the last stall in the row, which held Bûrzum. She had named the large, black stallion darkness. While his coat reflected his name, his personality did not, and Bûrzum was actually one of the nicest horses in the stable.

After saddling Bûrzum, Azruphel warmed him up and joined Uvatha. They took the two horses through several exercises, focusing on agility. Uvatha was a great trainer, and a great teacher. Azruphel remembered taking to him immediately. Sometimes she wondered if Uvatha was her father. They both had incredible skill with horses, and got along well. She also knew that her mother, Adûnaphel, had a bit of a reputation for sleeping around. It bothered her, but it wasn't that Khamûl was a bad father, just strict. Most of her choices had almost been made for her, including, she thought sadly, the ring on her finger.

"You a little lost in thought?"

Azruphel's head popped up. She was stopped in the middle of the arena. "I suppose," she answered.

"You want to talk?" Uvatha asked, allowing his horse to walk towards her. Azruphel nodded, while playing with the ring on her finger.

"You told me that you left your home because you were not happy, and because there was something better here. You said the ring was a token of your allegiance, a sign that you had become a ruler. Does this make me a ruler?"

"It makes you one of us," Uvatha stated simply.

"Sometimes I don't feel like one of you," Azruphel confessed. "I look at you, and I see you as you were. When I look at myself, I see myself as I am. Why?"

Uvatha thought for a moment. He always did when Azruphel asked him a complicated question. Most people would become upset, thinking Uvatha did not know the answer, but Azruphel knew it was only when Uvatha truly tried to answer her questions that he did this.

"There is a reason why we are only shadows to the normal eye. No one knew what immortality would do to someone who is supposed to be a mortal. We faded from the world. You are yet to do that because you are still young."

"Do I have to fade?"

The question was a new one, and it surprised Uvatha. Azruphel rarely questioned the Nazgûl in any way, but he supposed it would have come eventually, especially with the new lessons.

"There is always a choice. What you want cannot be ignored, but remember that the other choice would be death. At least if you fade, then you will enter into something you know."

Azruphel nodded, deep in thought, and then spurred her horse forward to train some more. They continued for an hour before allowing their horses a break. The horses where tired, but no where near finished. Uvatha had trained all of them well. He also trained the flying steeds for the Nazgûl, though he and Azruphel did not enjoy them as much as horses. Azruphel had only just started riding them a few years ago. She had named her beast Dushtala, or storm. She had learned to respect him, but it had taken her a long time to get over her fear. Dushtala became hers because he responded to her call. Most people, according to Khamûl, could not distinguish between the calls of the Nazgûl, which to the people seemed like screams, but the Nazgûl could hear the subtle differences between them, as could the flying steeds. Normally Azruphel would train Dushtala, but today was the meeting, so she and Uvatha headed up to the room instead. They were the last to arrive, and they received a look from Er-Murazor before he began.

Normally these meetings were boring. It was all Azruphel could do to keep from yawning. Er-Murazor loved to look at every detail, most of which were pointless to the big picture. It wasn't until later in the meeting that something actually caught Azruphel's interest.

"Orcs near the Crossroads captured a human. He is yet to say anything about who he is or why he was so close to Mordor."

This got Azruphel to perk up. No one ever came close to Mordor.

"We do not think he will talk," continued Er-Murazor. "He looks to be one of the northerners, a Dúnedain. He needs to be persuaded. I believe one of us can do that." As he said this last statement, he looked to Azruphel. Azruphel met his gaze, and nodded.

"Good," he continued. "Take as much time as you need, but I want results no matter what."

The meeting ended soon after, and Khamûl moved to catch up with Azruphel.

"Congratulations, Azruphel," he said.

"Thank you," Azruphel replied with a smile, but then asked, "Why do you think he chose me?"

"I think he is proud of the progress you have shown." Azruphel looked up at Khamûl's statement. "This is a chance for you to prove yourself to him. He is finally giving you the respect you deserve. Prove to him that you are ready for this.

Azruphel smiled. This was what she had been waiting for form Er-Murazor. She was finally gaining his respect. She could not wait for this prisoner to arrive.

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**A/N:** Please review!


	4. The Prisoner

I do not own _Lord of the Rings_, or any of Tolkien's characters. Any characters and plot lines I create are mine.

**A/N:** You guys are great! Thank you so much for the reviews, the follows, and the favorites!

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**Chapter 4: The Prisoner**

Azruphel rarely met other people. Khamûl, on a few occasions, had taken her riding near Osgiliath and through some parts of Ithilien, but that was pretty much it. She had watched the people of Gondor from a distance, and generally respected them for their skills. She was yet to fight a man, but she had heard from the orcs that men from Gondor were slightly stupid. This was all the knowledge she had when she finally met the prisoner.

Going by appearances, Azruphel had to agree with the orcs on this man. The dark hair was becoming matted. His clothes, which the orcs had stripped down to the bare minimum, were worn, patched, and needed repair in some places. He was dirty, and looked like he had not bathed in weeks. The only seemingly intelligent part of him was his eyes, a shade of grey which locked onto her own light blue eyes. For an instant, Azruphel thought she saw them widen with surprise before the man lowered his gaze once more. Azruphel's eyes swept over the man a second time, seeing both old and new wounds. This man had clearly seen battle before, and judging by the fact that his back seemed to be bleeding, the orcs decided to have their fun on the journey to Minas Morgul.

Azruphel had never led an interrogation before, though she had seen the orc attempt many times. It would not work on this man, who had not said a word since his capture. Therefore, she was surprised when the man spoke up from his dark corner.

"If you are here for information, may I suggest you start by asking questions?"

Azruphel normally did not deal with disrespect, but surprised even herself when she slipped into what Uvatha called the negotiator mode by responding, "I'm contemplating."

"Contemplating. What would you have to contemplate?"

"You."

The man chuckled. "I was going for a less obvious response. Though I must say I am surprised that a woman has been sent as the interrogator."

"Clearly you do not respond to the orc method of physical, judging by the state of your back," Azruphel said with a smile. "You have a name?"

"Normally one does not see a human in Mordor, especially in Minas Morgul. Do _you_ have a name?"

Azruphel laughed. "Asking me questions is not going to change the subject. I asked for yours."

"You aren't an Easterling, and clearly not from Harad. Normally I would say you are Rohirrim, but they are not allied with Sauron."

Azruphel considered the man once more. She definitely was qualifying him as intelligent now. Most people would not look at her and think of her as Rohirrim, but even in the dark room he had picked up on it. Her hair, while darker than the average blond still contained a trace of the golden streaks, combined with her lighter eyes gave hints of the Rohirrim, at least as far as Azruphel was aware. It was yet another reason why Azruphel suspected Uvatha as her father, seeing his skill with horses, as well as her own, as a sign that they were related to the horse masters. She took a moment to consider before responding, "I am part Rohirrim."

The man nodded. "I have many names," he said. "But to most people, I am called Strider. Now, what do people call you?"

"I am here to learn about you, not the other way around. You are from the North." This was not a question.

"I am still waiting on a name," the man said.

Azruphel considered the situation. There was not much he could do with a name, however seeing that the man could not have given his real name, Azruphel would not give hers. "Shaataz."

Strider raised his eyebrows. "Is that your real name?" he asked.

"No," Azruphel responded, "but Strider is not your real name, either."

"That is fair."

Strider was being agreeable. It raised Azruphel's hopes. Perhaps she would be able to persuade him to talk without much effort. "Why were you near Mordor, Strider?" she asked.

"That is none of your concern."

"Oh, but it is. This is my home, and I will protect it."

"That is interesting. What do you know about, 'your home,' as you put it?" Strider asked. Azruphel was surprised and angered by the statement. How dare that man try to insult her intelligence and Mordor.

"And what would you know about it?"

"I know many things. Dark things."

"Well, I know nothing 'dark' about my home."

"Perhaps you do not see the dark. Perspective is everything. Do you have a family in Mordor?"

"So what if I do?"

Strider smiled as he said, "Family determines much. Look at where you are. You are standing in a dungeon with a prisoner, all alone. And it seems your prisoner is asking more questions than you are. What has that family been teaching you?

"What about it?"

"I do not mean to insult, but when I was around your age, I considered hunting, not interrogating, to be enjoyable."

"Let's look at you for a moment, shall we? Worn clothing, several layers of it from what I can see," Azruphel said, referring to the pile of Strider's things sitting in the corner. "You come from the North but you are traveling here, not near other people but alone and near Mordor. Everything you have you seem to just carry with you. Most people would be begging for mercy here but not you, you have fear but it is not of death. From that, all I can say about you is that you do not have a family to go to."

Anger flashed for a second in the grey eyes but he then calmed down. "You know nothing of family."

"Try me."

Strider paused, and took a deep breath. "Would you do anything for your family?"

"I would."

"Would your family do anything for you?"

Azruphel was about to respond when she stopped, mouth open, the affirmation hanging on her tongue. The truth was, she did not know the answer to that last statement.

"I though so," Strider said with a grim smile, before turning around and refusing to speak the rest of the day.

*****Azruphel*****

Later that day Er-Murazor pulled Azruphel aside and asked her what the prisoner had said.

"Just a fake name and responses aimed to change the subject before I got silence," Azruphel responded.

"But he did speak? This is a good sign. You may need to change tactics to get information, but good job."

Good job? He never says 'good job' to anyone, Azruphel thought. Khamûl, who had been watching, smiled at her. This brought up memories of Strider and their discussion on family. Would she do anything for Khamûl? She always assumed that she would, but would Khamûl do anything for her? As soon as the thought entered her mind, she was assaulted by memories.

_The rough hand of the orc on the back of her head. Bucket of water in front of her. Screaming for Khamûl, but he was not there._

Azruphel shook off the memory. That was a long time ago. She took off running, and did not stop until she collapsed on a huge door, panting. Looking around, she noticed she was near Dushtala's stall, and the flying steed was staring at her.

"Want to go flying?" she asked Dushtala in black speech. Azruphel did not bother with a saddle, instead simply leaping on him and taking off. She needed air, and there was no better way to do that than to go for a flight. Dushtala could cover a huge distance in a short time. The farthest she had ever taken him was to Emyn Muil so she could explore it, but if she wanted to be back in Minas Morgul before morning, she would need to stay nearby. Therefore she just circled in the clouds for a while, taking in the cool night breeze. After a while, she landed Dushtala on a cliff overlooking the city. It really was a sight to behold from above. Azruphel sat up there well into the night, simply thinking, before going back down.

* * *

**A/N:** So, I found a website that teaches black speech. Obviously it is a fan site, because Tolkien only had a few translated words, but these fans took those words and the inscription on the ring and created a language. I think it is the land of shadow... something like that. Anyway, on the site there is a translator in which you can get your own orc name! So I thought I would give it a go, and it came back with Shaataz, the villainous. I could not stop laughing. It thinks I am villainous. Mwuahahahahaha! Alight, I am done. So, when Azruphel came up with a fake name, I picked Shaataz so I could have my own little cameo in the story (if a computer generated name used in a fanfic even counts as a cameo).

Please review!


	5. A Question of Truth

I do not own _Lord of the Rings_, or any of Tolkien's characters. Any characters and plot lines I create are mine.

**A/N:** Do any of you find that reading and writing about Lord of the Rings makes you want to learn how to fence? On Mario and Sonic Olympic Games 2008 for Wii, there is a fencing game! So, I was playing it, but I was having trouble with it simply standing still, so I got into a real fencing position (at least I think it was real) and played like that! It is really fun! I got a silver medal. If you ever play that game, you have to do it! And I looked ridiculous doing it, but now I _really_ want to learn how to fence, so I can be cool and stuff. I want a sword, too. I will need to get home for the Pennsylvania Renaissance Fair next year because that is the only place I know of where I can buy a sword without using a credit card on the Internet. Yes, I realize that there are specific swords for fencing but I don't care I will buy one of those, too.

Alright that was a trip into my nerd mind back to the story!

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**Chapter 5: A Question of Truth**

Azruphel's success on day one was followed by failures for the next several days. Strider had not said a word, at least that was what the other Nazgûl were led to believe. Strider consistently questioned Azruphel's belief in Mordor. He was curious about her family, especially when Azruphel refused to talk about them. She did not even admit that they were Nazgûl, though it was partially because Khamûl advised against sharing personal information with Strider. The other reason was due to the fact that Azruphel's family would appear unconventional to any outsider.

From what Azruphel knew about Rohirrim and Gondorian families, they consisted of one father, who was the head of the house, one mother, and a bunch of children. Multiple families lived in towns or cities together. Looking around the table, Azruphel thought of how strange her family would seem. She technically had nine parents. Only a few actually took a major role in her life. They were Uvatha, Khamûl, Adûnaphel, and Er-Murazor. The others had provided support over the years, though not to the same degree as Khamûl and Er-Murazor. Out of Dwar, Ji Indur, Akhorahil, Hoarmurath, and Ren, Akhorahil would have to be her favorite. He was a Númenórean, just like her mother. He was also very good at healing, and over the years Azruphel had gone to see him a lot. Azruphel liked how her family was set up, but knew Strider would not approve.

And now he has made me embarrassed of my own family, Azruphel thought. It had been a stressful day with Strider. He did not talk about himself unless Azruphel talked about herself first, and he had not been eating. Not that Azruphel blamed him, considering the food the orcs provided. Even Azruphel, who would try almost anything, would not eat it unless starving or desperate. Thinking about his lack of response to outright questions, Azruphel had an idea. She knew the man was trying to find a weak spot in her to cause doubt. It would be easy to play along. She would just have to remain calm. Azruphel headed towards the dungeons. As she approached his cell, she could hear the shouts and jeers of orcs. She opened the door to see a crowd of orcs standing around Strider, the leader forcing his head into a bucket. Strider thrashed as the orcs laughed, and Azruphel watched as water splashed from the bucket...

_The rough hand of the orc on the back of her head. Bucket of water in front of her. Screaming for Khamûl, but he was not there. The hand forcing her head underwater before she could take in a breath._

"Get out," Azruphel said. The orcs looked up at her.

"What did you say to me, Human?" the leader asked.

"I said get out!" They did not move. Azruphel drew her sword. "Now!"

The orcs who had been watching moved to the side, but the leader did not move. With his hand still keeping Strider underwater, he asked, "Are you going to make me?"

Azruphel did not hesitate, and her strike came quickly. The orc was forced to let go of Strider to meet it, and Strider pulled out of the bucket and collapsed, panting near the wall. Azruphel, meanwhile was forcing the leader around and back until he was out the door before turning to the other orcs. They were smarter than the leader and left without complaint, but the leader was not finished.

"You will pay for ruining my fun. How dare you order me around!" He charged, but Azruphel was too fast for him when she turned and stabbed the orc just bellow his heart.

"How dare you threaten your superior!" Azruphel replied, and Strider watched, amazed. "I gave you an order, to get out. You do not disregard my orders." With that, Azruphel pulled her sword from the orc's chest and shoved him into the watching orcs, who quickly departed. Azruphel slumped against a wall. "Are you alright, Strider?" she asked.

"Yes. Who was that orc?"

"Thagûrz. He is an idiot. Well, he was an idiot."

"You did not have to do that."

"I know. I did it anyway."

"Why?"

Azruphel paused. "I supposed I never condoned torture for fun. Sometimes it is necessary for information, but Thagûrz never concerned himself with that. So, I considered him to be wrong."

They both stared at each other until Strider started laughing. "What is so funny?" Azruphel asked.

"I never met a person from Mordor who showed compassion before," Strider said.

"Well, if you have only met the orcs, then you wouldn't have," Azruphel said with a smile, and before long both she and Strider were laughing.

"Is your family kind as well?"

Azruphel was unprepared for the question, or perhaps she relaxed when they started to joke. Either way, she could not stop her response. "Well, Khamûl can be a little tough at times."

Azruphel saw Strider's eyes go wide, and suddenly realized her mistake.

"Khamûl?"

Azruphel nodded.

"As in Khamûl the Easterling? Khamûl the Nazgûl?"

"I said too much," Azruphel replied, giving Strider the confirmation he was looking for.

"That is not possible!" Strider said.

"Well, I don't think he is my actual father, but he has been there my whole life. When I told you I am part Rohirrim, I really believe that I am."

"That is not what I was referring to. I am talking about the Nazgûl having children!"

"What? Do you think I just popped out of a hole in the ground?" Azruphel asked, not sure whether she should be amused or angry.

"No, but I do not think you are from here. What did the Nazgûl tell you?"

"What do you mean by that? They are my family!" Azruphel shouted at Strider.

"Tell me, what is it like to have Nazgûl as parents? Are they training you to become one of them?"

"Maybe I already am one of them!"

"You are no wraith."

"Neither were they at first," Azruphel came back with. She was getting tired of Strider's arrogance. There were some things he did not understand.

"You are right. They did not know what the rings would do, nor did they know the true identity of the giver."

That made Azruphel pause. "Lord Sauron was the giver. They knew that!"

"Is that what they told you?"

"Why does that matter?"

"It matters," Strider explained, "because perspective is everything. The Nazgûl want you on your side. Perhaps this 'family' of yours did not tell the truth!"

Azruphel was shaken on the inside, but she did not let it show. "Do you think you can just come in here and tell me who I am? Do you have any proof of what you are talking about?"

Strider looked around. "This place was once Minas Ithil, before the Nazgûl made it their fortress. There used to be a hidden library near the east staircase on the second floor. It contains many texts and histories."

"I have searched everywhere in this place. I have never found a hidden library."

"One of the stones on the left side releases the door."

"How could you know that? Have you ever been here before?"

"I suppose there is only one way for you to find out," Strider said mysteriously. Azruphel could not help but think that Strider was crazy.

*****Azruphel*****

I am crazy, Azruphel thought. Here I am, knocking on a stone wall outside a staircase, looking for a room that might not exist. Azruphel had been going up and down the halls near the east staircase for an hour. She was yet to find any sign that there was a trick door anywhere in Minas Morgul.

I am wasting my time, Azruphel thought. Suddenly, she knocked on a stone that made a different sound than the others. Azruphel knocked again. Whatever it was, there was something hollow behind the stone. Testing all the stones around it, she found a perfect door shape. She began pushing on all the stones to the left of the door until one moved. The wall shifted, allowing a small opening for Azruphel to squeeze through. The inside was dark, so Azruphel lit a torch to reveal hundreds of books.

* * *

**A/N: **How does Strider know about the secret library, you might ask? Oh, I don't know. Guess I have some thinking to do before I update next. Maybe Elrond told him, or he read about it in Elrond's library. Something like that. After I wrote it I realized I did not even have a plan for it.

Please review!


	6. Elvish

I do not own _Lord of the Rings_, or any of Tolkien's characters. Any characters and plot lines I create are mine.

**A/N:** Well, that was a longer break than I expected, and I am sorry. When my director set the dates for the play, he did not count on a hurricane or the supposed snow storm in which all evening activities would be cancelled... and no snow fell. Not a single flake! And I know there wasn't, because when I walked to the mall, it was raining. I am the props manager for the play, which means all this week I got up early for debate practice at 5:30, went to school until 3:00, immediately went to the stage to build props until 6:00, ate Wendy's, pizza, or other fatty fast foods which I really should not be eating, helped run the show until around 10:00, took a shower and did any homework I deemed important, and went to be bed somewhere between 11:00 and 12:00. Yesterday I skipped half the day of school so I could finish building some props before opening night, and ten minuted before places I dried one under a hand dryer in the bathroom. At least the show went off without a hitch, as long as you do not count the missing broom in Scene 1 and the fact that a flower stand never made it on stage. I finally got to sleep in this morning and write this! YES! I think I lost my mind this week, so I hope this chapter is good.

* * *

**Chapter 6: Elvish**

"Alright, how did you know about the library?"

Azruphel practically ran back to Strider's cell after exploring the hidden room. Strider, of course, did not directly answer her question.

"Did you find what you were looking for, Shaataz?" Strider asked, using the fake name Azruphel had given him.

"Well, normally I would, except I did not know what I was looking for," Azruphel said, pulling a book from the bag she carried on her shoulder. "I can't read Elvish."

Sure enough, the book in question was not in common tongue, or any other tongue that Azruphel actually could read.

"I do not think a book on healing herbs will help you much," Strider said.

Azruphel suddenly had an idea. "So, you can read Elvish."

"Yes."

Azruphel shifted slightly, uncomfortable with the idea. It was crazy, after all. However, she could not think of a reason not to ask, so she did it anyway. "Can you teach me?"

"Teach you Elvish? With all due respect, I do not believe you can pick up a language in a day."

Azruphel laughed. "I am not talking about a day! A week or so. Just enough that I could find a book on ring lore or history. I would know it already if anyone here would teach me."

"And when you find a book, what then?" Strider asked.

"Well," Azruphel began, realizing she had not thought out the plan. "Perhaps you could translate."

Strider thought about the proposal as Azruphel watched him closely. "I have my price," he finally responded. Azruphel had been expecting a bargain.

"I can't let you go, if that is what you are asking for!"

"No, nothing of the sort."

"Then what?"

"Decent food, perhaps. _Fresh_ water. Maybe a pillow."

"I will see what I can do," Azruphel said, her voice barely masking her excitement. "I will agree about the food. That orc stuff is pretty bad."

Strider smiled. "Sindarin or Quenya?"

"There are two? What is the difference?" Azruphel asked.

"How about you bring a book so I know what to teach you. Do you have something to write with?" Azruphel crouched down, pulling ink out of her bag and handing it over to him along with a quill and paper. "Look for these words on the titles. They may contain information you are looking for."

"Thank you."

"_Hannon le_," Strider said.

"What?"

"It means 'thank you' in Elvish."

"_Hannon le_, Strider," Azruphel said, and was moving to get up when the door started to swing open. Suddenly, Azruphel shoved the book and paper in the bag and stood, saying in a calm but authoritative voice, "There must be a reason, so tell me!"

Strider's eyes went wide and looked past her, but Azruphel already knew who was behind her. In her interest in speaking with Strider, she had not been paying attention to the position of the Witch-king in the back of her mind. Now, Er-Murazor stood behind her, though the reason for it, she did not know.

"_Let's talk_," he said in black speech, which meant that the conversation would happen right there because Strider would not understand it.

"_About what?_" Azruphel asked genuinely confused.

"_You killed an orc._"

"_So? Why do you care?_"

"_I do not care about the life of one orc. I just want to know why you killed it in front of a prisoner._"

Azruphel started to panic before reminding herself to remain calm. "_I gave him an order. He refused to follow it, and then he charged me. I reacted._"

"_You should not have done it in front of him,_" Er-Murazor stated firmly. "_It makes Mordor look weak if we cannot keep our own orcs under our control._"

"_Really? I think it makes Mordor look strong. We can sacrifice an orc or two, and our justice is swift, as well as without mercy. I do not see a problem with what I have done._"

"_What made you do it?_"

"_I told you. He was disobeying orders._"

"_Yes, but why were you down here in the first place? You left dinner early. None of the orcs expected you to be down here._"

Now Azruphel could sense trouble. This was the real reason Er-Murazor had come. She had broken her pattern. She knew she could not tell the Witch-king her original plan of sharing her secrets to get Strider to share his. None of the Nazgûl would approve.

"_I needed to check something. I found Thagûrz drowning the prisoner for torture. I told him to stop, and he didn't. He got angry, attacked, and I was forced to kill him. That is all._"

Er-Murazor seemed skeptical. "_Alright, Azruphel._ Just remember, you have a job to do." The last part he said in Common Speech. The Nazgûl swept out of the room, leaving Azruphel standing awkwardly as Strider looked up.

"What happened?"

Azruphel almost forgot that they had been speaking in black speech. "It is nothing," she said. "He was just checking about that one orc, Thagûrz." Then Azruphel looked away, slightly embarrassed. She had been lectured in front of a prisoner. "I am going to look for a book."

"Are you alright?" came Strider's voice from the corner.

"Yeah. I'm fine. I will be back." With that, Azruphel all but ran from the room, to the east staircase. She entered the room and started searching for a book with any words in the title that matched the list Strider had given her. It took several hours before Azruphel finished going through the room, but at least she had seven books to show for it. As she started back to Strider's cell, she began to think about what she was doing. She was not a rebel, in fact this was one of the few times she had questioned anything about her lifestyle. Strider seemed to be telling the truth, but Azruphel decided to be wary. She had taken every book containing just one word from the three on the list, but there was one book that contained all three. Suddenly, Azruphel changed direction, heading to her room. She hid the book under her bed and placed a spare cloak on top of it before going back to see Strider. He could always fool her by making up a translation. Azruphel would not know if the passage was correct or not, but if she asked him to teach her a little, first, then she could at least tell according to sentence structure if it was correct. She also stopped to grab something for Strider to eat that was not orc food.

Making sure there were not any listeners, she entered his cell. Without saying a word, she dropped the food in front of him, and smiled when his face visibly brightened. While he ate, she pulled out the six remaining books.

"I found these in the library. Are they any good?" she asked.

"I gave you the words history, rings, and lore. These are basic history books. There might be something in here, but I will not make any promises."

"Could you still teach me Elvish, though?"

Strider sighed. "Since I am here, I will teach you some Elvish, but I doubt I will be able to teach you much."

Azruphel smiled. "We will see about that." Strider was yet to find out just how good Azruphel was with language.

*****Azruphel*****

Azruphel proved to be a fast learner, in Strider's standards that is. In two weeks time, she had memorized the long lists of vocabulary that Strider had put in front of her, and was figuring out sentence structure just by listening to Strider speak.

"How many languages do you know?" Strider asked while eating dinner one day. Azruphel had upheld her end of the bargain beyond his standards, providing meats and bread above orc quality and in high amounts, as well as water and decent bedding.

"Well, I can speak Westron, Rohirric, Dalish, Khuzdul, Adûnaic, Black Adûnaic, and Black Speech. There are also a few tongues of Easterlings, and some Haradrim languages that I can speak."

Strider either was shocked or impressed. Perhaps both, Azruphel thought.

"That must be why you are learning Sindarin so quickly," Strider said.

"I suppose," Azruphel replied. Over the past two weeks, she had grown more comfortable around Strider. He seemed genuinely happy when teaching her Elvish. More importantly, he seemed truthful. It was a step in the right direction, and Azruphel decided to bring him the seventh book soon.

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**A/N:** Please review!


	7. Confrontation

I do not own Lord of the Rings, or any of Tolkien's characters. Any characters and plot lines I create are mine.

**A/N:** Just a short Author's Note today. I am so looking forward to Thanksgiving because of how much I love pumpkin pie! It is absolutely the best thing about fall ever. Oh yeah, and the turkey is good, too. And the stuffing. And cranberry sauce, I love cranberries! So to sum up this note, I am going to eat tons of food, gain a few pounds, and hopefully use that extra weight to gain the motivation I have been lacking in order to begin exercising. Yay!

As for a note that is actually related to the story, over 1000 views. WOW!

* * *

**Chapter 7: Confrontation**

Khamûl had not seen much of Azruphel in the past two weeks, and he was beginning to grow concerned. It seemed as though she was deliberately avoiding him. It also concerned Khamûl that Azruphel was spending a considerable amount of time with the prisoner or in her room. She was hiding something. That much, at least, was certain. He now had to figure out what.

Khamûl started searching at Azruphel's room. Then the dungeons. Then the stables. She was not in any of those places. Frustrated, Khamûl stormed into one of the meeting rooms, looking for Er-Murazor. Instead, he walked in on the last person he expected to find. Azruphel was sitting at her usual spot, staring intently at an unlit candle.

"You know, it is funny," she began as soon as Khamûl entered the room. "No matter how long or how hard I concentrate, doing what he has told me, I only got one candle to light. Even then, I wonder if I did it, or him."

Khamûl was not in the mood for games. "What is this about, Azruphel?"

"This," she said, throwing a book on the table between them. The Nazgûl hissed when he saw the book was written in Elvish.

**Six Hours Earlier**

"Don't get mad," Azruphel said to Strider as she pulled a book from her bag. Strider's eyes grew wide at the title.

"Where did you get this?" he asked.

"I had it all along. I wanted to make sure you were being truthful when you taught me Elvish."

Strider picked up the book and began paging though it. "This is incredible! It details much of the history of rings and ring lore."

"Does it have information on the Nine?"

"It should. If this doesn't, nothing does."

Strider and Azruphel spent two hour pouring over the book and its information. Azruphel could only understand a few words in each sentence, so Strider often had to translate for her. Azruphel, however, did not worry about Strider being truthful. She was going to trust him after everything he had done for her.

"I found something," he said to her finally. Azruphel looked at the writing, but could only decipher a few words.

"What does it say?" she asked.

Strider looked at the page, hesitating. "Are you sure you want to hear this?"

"What does it say?" Azruphel repeated firmly.

Strider took a deep breath, and then began to read. "'Sauron the deceiver gave to them nine rings of power. Blinded by their greed, they took them without question, one by one falling into darkness. Now they are slaves to his will. They are the Nazgûl, Ringwraiths, neither living nor dead. At all times they feel the presence of the Ring, drawn to the power of the One.'" Strider stopped when he saw Azruphel sink to the floor in shock.

"Are you alright?" he asked after a few minutes had passed.

Azruphel did not respond right away. Instead, she began to shake, and the next minute passed in silence. When she finally did speak, her voice had lost the confidence that Strider had grown accustomed to over the last few weeks.

"I spent the last two weeks hoping for something I knew in my heart was wrong," she said slowly, clearly hurt. "I wanted it to be a trick, and I could prove it wrong. But I was wrong." Azruphel was somewhere between anger and tears.

"What did they tell you," he prompted, knowing it would awake rage within her, but also recognizing that she needed to get it out.

"They told me it was a choice, that they knew the whole time what they were doing. He said it was a choice, that the ring was a sign of loyalty. Not a sign of a slave!"

"Shaataz, it was not their fault! The Nazgûl were deceived," Strider started to say, but Azruphel cut him off.

"They deceived _me_! They lied to _me_! He said I would always have a choice, but I know what he wanted me to chose. And it was already decided for me!"

"They are the slaves, Shaataz. The Nazgûl had to follow orders from Sauron."

"Sauron may be in control, but they are my family. I thought I would at least get some honesty from that!"

"Shaataz, calm down!"

"It is not Shaataz! My name is Azruphel."

"Azruphel," Strider said. It was only then that Azruphel realized she had revealed her name. For a moment Strider looked thoughtful, as though he would share his name in return, but then he simply continued, "You have a Númenórean name."

"Adûnaphel gave me that name," Azruphel said, her anger and frustration beginning to give way to tears. "All this time, I have been no more than a slave. I knew to follow orders. I don't know what is on the other side of this. I was taught to hate everything and everyone, even my own race, all because they were evil. Well, let them have their opinions. I have formed my own." Azruphel got up to leave.

"Where are you going?" Strider asked.

Azruphel paused near the door. "I need to speak with someone."

**Present**

Khamûl was angry, furious even, but more importantly he was hurt. Azruphel no longer trusted him, instead placing all her trust in a prisoner who claimed the Nazgûl were deceived. Unfortunately, it was the truth.

"You went behind our backs because of the words of a prisoner? How could you?"

"Excuse me?" Azruphel asked. "How could I? How could you? I put my faith in my family and all of you lied to me!"

"Where did you find this book?"

"Really, Father? I know every inch of this place. There is a hidden library in Minas Morgul."

"So, did you just happen upon that book or did you go specifically for it after speaking with that man?"

"He seemed truthful, and I wanted to know. He does not know what I found." Azruphel easily told that lie. If she told the truth, she would not be able to protect Strider.

"How did you learn Elvish?" Khamûl asked.

"I figured it out with the books in the library. I am going to ask you again. How could you?"

Khamûl sighed. The game was up, and it had taken a filthy prisoner to break Azruphel's resolve. After all the years of loyalty, Khamûl believed Azruphel had become a Nazgûl.

"I am sorry," he finally said. "We believed that of we told you the truth, you would leave us. Adûnaphel and I did not want that."

"Well, that plan worked out well for you," Azruphel said, turning to leave.

"Azruphel! Don't go!"

"Why shouldn't I go? YOU LIED TO ME!" Azruphel yelled just as Adûnaphel and Uvatha opened the door. There was an awkward pause as the four looked at each other. Then, Azruphel stormed out of the room, slamming the door as she went.

"Khamûl, what is going on?" Adûnaphel asked. Uvatha, on the other hand, turned to follow Azruphel.

"I am going to talk to her," he said.

"Uvatha, wait! I should warn you first -"

"You don't need to warn me," Uvatha said, cutting Khamûl off. "She is hurt by something you said, and clearly does not want to talk about it in front of you!" Without another word, he followed the path he knew Azruphel would take. Sure enough, as he approached the stables, he could hear sobbing coming from Bûrzum's stall.

"I don't want to talk to you," she said. Clearly, she had felt him coming.

"What did Khamûl say?" he asked, not listening to her words at all.

"It is not just Khamûl," she sobbed. "It is all of you. You lied about the rings, about Sauron, about everything!"

"What are you talking about?"

"None of you left willingly. You were deceived into taking the rings, but of course you could not tell me that. I always counted you as a friend, Uvatha. Tell me the truth now. Did you leave home because you were unhappy, or because Sauron was forcing you to."

Uvatha thought, trying to figure out how to answer. "I was unhappy, because something was drawing me here. I know now that it was this ring, but by the time I figured it out, it was too late. Sauron had taken control. We learned later that he was the one who gave us the rings. We were told to tell you lies, Azruphel. Believe me when I say this; I never wanted to, but the others felt it was necessary."

"We don't have a choice, do we?"

"It is too late for me, Azruphel. But I hold by what I told you. You, right now, still have a choice. I suggest you make one." Uvatha began to walk away.

"Uvatha, wait!" He turned around. Azruphel got up off the floor and hugged him.

"Thank you."

* * *

**A/N:** So, I stole a quote from the movie. Just in case you didn't notice...

Please review!


	8. Leaving

I do not own _Lord of the Rings_, or any of Tolkien's characters. Any characters and plot lines I create are mine.

**A/N:** Well, that was a longer break than planned. Oops...

* * *

**Chapter 8: Leaving**

Strider was becoming worried. He had not seen Azruphel since she stormed out of his cell several hours ago. He did not know where she had gone, other than the fact that she needed to speak to someone. Strider assumed it was the man she had referred to. Perhaps it was Khamûl, Azruphel's father. Either way, Strider was worried the confrontation would not work out in her favor.

The door opened, and Strider looked up to see a figure in a black cloak holding a bundle. Strider feared the worst when the figure stepped closer, revealing Azruphel underneath the hood.

"If I let you go," she said, "Will you take me with you?"

"What?"

"I don't want to stay here. I have been lied to and used, and I want to see what it is like out there. I need someone to take me."

Strider considered for a moment. He had grown to trust Azruphel. "I will need my things," he said.

Azruphel smiled. She put down the bundle she was carrying in front of Strider, and he opened it to find everything the orcs had taken from him. "We need to leave now. The orcs will be gathered and eating. They will be not be close to where we are going." With that, Azruphel opened the door and tossed Strider a dark cloak, similar to her own. She then walked down the hall, not sneaking like Strider would have done, but confidently as if nothing were wrong with the situation. She did not go up the stairs, however. Instead, she went to the side of the staircase and squeezed through a crack that Strider did not notice until they were up close. Strider pushed himself through only to find a narrow passage that was almost dark.

"It is a shortcut to the stables. Barely anyone knows about it, and I am the only one who uses it," Azruphel said, anticipating the question. Strider smiled and followed her along the path before Azruphel paused once more, checked the area, and crawled out into a wide hall. Ten black horses stood in stalls, and Azruphel headed straight for the one on the end.

"This is Bûrzum," Azruphel said, introducing the stallion to Strider. Bûrzum eyed Strider, sweeping over him several times, before snorting and looking away. Azruphel just laughed. "That means he tolerates you."

Suddenly, Azruphel picked up on voices heading towards the stables. She pushed Strider into the stall and down onto the bedding. She was about to join him when a Nazgûl came around the corner. Azruphel froze. It was Adûnaphel.

"I thought I might find you here," she began. When Azruphel did not respond, she noticed the bag. "Are you going somewhere?"

"I don't know. I thought I might just go for a ride."

"I'll join you."

"Don't," Azruphel said, a little too firmly.

"Khamûl told me that you know. Uvatha said you were really upset, so I figured I would come down and check on you."

"Good for you."

The conversation stalled for a moment, before Adûnaphel spoke again. "We never talk anymore."

"I never knew what to say."

The conversation stalled again. This time, it was Azruphel who spoke first. "Is there something you want?"

Adûnaphel sighed. "I do not want you to leave."

"Well, you should have thought of that before all of you lied."

Adûnaphel gave in, realized Azruphel just wanted to be alone. "Just remember, I am your mom. I will see you later, Azruphel."

"Bye, Adûnaphel." Adûnaphel noticed that Azruphel did not call her Mother. After Adûnaphel left, Strider stood up in the stall.

"I do not think she saw me."

"Good," Azruphel replied. "Are you ready?" she asked, reaching up to smooth the mane of the black horse.

"Yes."

"I was talking to Bûrzum," Azruphel said, laughing. She saddled the horse and led him through the halls with Strider. She took them through a few halls before reaching the front courtyard. As Azruphel had said, the area was deserted. Strider kept looking over his shoulder, expecting someone to appear, but they met no orcs on their way. Even in the open walkway that led over the ravine, no one saw them. When they reached the other side, Azruphel mounted and pulled Strider up. Bûrzum was not happy about the extra passenger, but did not put up any resistance.

"Well, that went better than I thought it would," Azruphel said as they cantered away. Strider laughed.

"Do your plans usually go wrong?"

"Not usually, but normally when I walk around Minas Morgul I see a few orcs. It must be a meat night."

"You don't think they know, do they?" Strider asked, clearly concerned.

Azruphel shook her head. "If they knew, we would be captured or killed by now."

"That is a comforting thought."

"Well, think of something else, then."

"Alright," Strider said. "You need a new name."

"What is wrong with Azruphel?" she said, confused.

"If the Nazgûl come looking for you, they will be asking for an Azruphel. It is not a common name. People will remember it if they meet you. You need something less noticeable, and I do not think Shaataz will work."

Azruphel laughed. "Orc names are probably not the best idea. So, what do you propose?"

Strider thought about it before saying, "Something Rohirrim."

"I don't know many Rohirrim names."

Strider considered Azruphel for a moment. "You look like a Faran."

"Faran?"

"It suits you."

"It sounds like a man's name!"

"Well, you could pass as a man. Considering the way you dress, you may as well pretend to be one," Strider said, and Azruphel could hear the laughter behind that statement.

"Fine, I will be Faran, but you are explaining if someone finds out!"

Strider chucked. "Fair enough."

"So, what do I call you?" Azruphel asked.

"Call me Thorongil around others. When we are alone, Strider is fine."

"You thought out everything."

"Yes, I have," Strider laughed. "And unless something goes wrong in the next few minutes, I think it is a good plan!"

As Stride and Azruphel moved further from Minas Morgul, nine Nazgûl met to discuss the day's events.

"She was saddling Bûrzum when I arrived," said Adûnaphel. "I know she left, but I do not know where she went. I warned the orcs to stay clear of her because she was in a mood."

"Do you think she will come back?" Ren asked.

"Eventually, yes. She has nowhere to go," Khamûl replied.

"I am not so sure," said Uvatha. "She was very upset. She is resourceful, and could very well not return."

"I think you overestimate her, Uvatha," Khamûl said. "She is afraid of what other people will do to her, and she won't be able to stand being alone. Every time she runs, she goes to you or Shagrat or Bûrzum."

"Really, Khamûl? I think you underestimate her!" Uvatha sneered.

"This fighting is getting us nowhere!" shouted Er-Murazor. "This partially has to do with the prisoner. If she does not return in a few days, we will speak to him."

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**A/N:** Please review!


	9. Across the Anduin

I do not own _Lord of the Rings_, or any of Tolkien's characters. Any characters and plot lines I create are mine.

**A/N: **Now then, I was looking over the reviews again today for Azruphel, and I just want to clear something up. For those who said something (and you know who you are :D), Strider and Azruphel are not going to have any sort of relationship beyond friendship. I normally do not like to pair people in unrealistic ways, in other words, people with girlfriends keep the girlfriends they have. I might have a slight one-sided moment, but if that happens it will not last long. We shall see. Any OCs or people without pre-established girlfriends are up for grabs, though. I may have to think about that depending on how far I take this story. I do have a plan for it, and there is a point that could either work as an ending or be a good place to start a "book two" should I want to continue. Anyway, here you go!

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**Chapter 9: Across the Anduin**

"How far from Mordor have you travelled?"

Azruphel turned around to face Strider. The two were riding double until they reached a city, where Strider planned to purchase a horse.

"Never over the Anduin. I have been to the edges of Mirkwood once, but I was with the others."

"I should take over when we get closer to Gondor. I want to stop at Minas Tirith, but not for long. Then we can move towards Rohan."

"And after that?" Azruphel asked. Despite an extensive knowledge of maps, she had no idea where a Ranger would go or what the region was like. There were stories, of course, but rarely any facts.

"Well, I need to go to Rivendell. From there, well, it depends."

"What is the North like?"

"It is colder. There are few main settlements anymore. There is the village of Bree, which is a human settlement. The elves live in Rivendell, and there is the Grey Havens by the sea. There are many ruins of the Northern Kingdom, too, along the East Road."

"Are there trolls?" Azruphel asked.

"Not where people are, usually. Why do you ask?"

"I just heard stories, that's all. Some of the orcs talked about seeing trolls in the North. It didn't end well for most of them."

Strider laughed. A story came to him suddenly, one that a friend told him. He looked at Azruphel. It wouldn't hurt to tell a tale, as long as he left a few names out.

"I had a friend who ran into a troll, once. Three trolls, actually!"

Azruphel turned around, very interested. "What happened?"

"Well, he and thirteen others, dwarves, were traveling on the East Road when they stopped for the night at an abandoned homestead."

Strider went on to tell about how the company noticed their ponies were missing and sent his friend to investigate. Of course, the entire group was eventually captured, and the trolls were preparing to cook them. The friend distracted the trolls, getting them to argue over the proper way to cook dwarves before dawn, when the sun turned the trolls to stone.  
Azruphel, at that point, was laughing along with Strider at the idea of three stone trolls in the woods. "Have you ever seen them?" she asked, wiping a tear from her eye.

"No," Strider said, "but I heard that there is a bird nesting on one of the heads!"

They had to stop after that. Both Azruphel and Strider were doubled over, laughing hysterically! Eventually, Azruphel tried to calm down by saying, "We need to stop or someone will hear us!" But as they rounded a corner in the woods, they noticed an old, stone statue, and began laughing again.

"So, what happened to your friend after that?" Azruphel asked after they finally calmed down.

"Well, they found a cave near the trolls, which was full of gold. Long story short, he is really rich now."

"Wow," Azruphel said, amazed. They were leaving the woods and heading into the open. She could see a city ahead, or what was left of a city, at least. "Looks like you had better take over," she said, getting down to switch places with Strider.

"We should head north. There is a shallow crossing we can use. I don't want to run into any guards in Osgiliath."

"No bridges, then?" Azruphel, for some reason, looked worried to Strider.

"No. Is that a problem?" he asked.

"No. No, it shouldn't be."

"Something wrong?"

"Bûrzum does not have much water experience," And neither do I, she added to herself.

"I am sure he will be fine," Strider said. "Speaking of Bûrzum, he needs a new name, too. I don't want to answer any questions or attract attention to us."

"OK," Azruphel said.

"What does his name mean?"

"Darkness. Somehow, I do not think that is a normal horse name."

"I would say no," Strider said. "How about-"

"Wait! You got to name me, now I get to name him!"

"Fine. What are you going to call him?"

Azruphel thought about it. She was so used to calling him Bûrzum. She would have to choose something similar.

"Nightfall. Is that acceptable?"

"Yes. Good name. It suits him."

"I thought so!" said Azruphel before suddenly, she seemed to freeze. Bûrzum snorted and stopped, two feet from the water.

_The rough hand of the orc on the back of her head. Bucket of water in front of her. Screaming for Khamûl, but he was not there. The hand forcing her head underwater before she could take in a breath. Completely submerged. It was dark, cold, and no matter how hard she struggled she could not get up._

"Azruphel?"

Strider's voice snapped her out of the memory. She shook her head.

"Sorry. My mind... drifted for a moment. I'm fine."

Strider stared at her, and it made Azruphel uncomfortable. The look in his eyes showed understanding, as if he knew what was bothering her.

"The water is not deep."

"I know," Azruphel said as Strider nudged the horse forward. Bûrzum (Nightfall now, Azruphel corrected to herself) took a tentative step forward before walking calmly across the river. The water came up to her feet, and she instinctively moved away from it until, finally, they reached the other side.

"See, that wasn't so bad," Strider said, though Azruphel was not sure if he was talking to the horse or her. He turned back to face her. "Ready to go to Minas Tirith?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," Azruphel sighed. She turned back, looking across the river.

"You alright?"

"Yeah. I was just thinking that this is the farthest from home I have ever been," Azruphel said with a smile. "And you know what? It feels right."

"Good! Let's go, Faran!" Strider teased.

Azruphel laughed at the fake name. "Sure thing, Strider."

"Forward, Nightfall!"

The black horse snorted and cantered south towards the city. Azruphel had seen the city a few times from a distance. The White City, as it was called, was the perfect name for the towering fortress. The seven levels, built into the mountain, reflected the morning sunrise. Azruphel remembered stepping from her hiding place in the trees to see it. Khamûl had yelled at her later for it, saying that stepping in the open was unsafe, but it was a spectacular sight to behold! She thought about Khamûl, and his insistence that people would always hate the Nazgûl. No, she now thought, they would only hate you! This was the world that they hated, with the people, and the sun. The sun had never bothered Azruphel, but she was encouraged to stay far away from it to the point where, on the rare times she actually went outside, she received what Akhorahil called sunburn. Without them, she could enjoy the moments other people enjoyed on this would, because she had not faded from it.

Before long, they had reached the city, which was larger than Azruphel had anticipated. It was huge! The main gates were open, and as they approached, Azruphel could see people busying themselves in a market. Suddenly, she was very nervous. What if they figured out who she was? What if they rejected her? What if Strider left her? The final was a very worrying thought. With all the people, she did not know if she could keep track of Strider. He could do anything. Leave, turn her in, and then what?

As if Strider could tell her anxieties were getting the better of her, said, "Don't worry. I will be with you the whole time."

"Good!" And with that, they passed through the gates and into Minas Tirith.

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**A/N:** Please review.


	10. Gondor Isn't So Bad

I do not own _Lord of the Rings_, or any of Tolkien's characters. Any characters and plot lines I create are mine.

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**Chapter 10: Gondor Isn't So Bad**

It suddenly occurred to Azruphel just how naive she was about the world. For starters, she had read almost any book she could find, studied every map, and learned many languages, except Elvish until a week ago. But despite the massive amount of learning she had done, she was stunned at the people of Minas Tirith! She stood frozen, barely hearing Strider say he was going to find a stable for Nightfall. Instead, she was watching the people walk through the streets, stopping at stands and walking into buildings, and then leaving the establishments with food, clothing, or whatever each place had.

Of course she would not immediately recognize the market. Places where non-soldiers bought and sold items. Azruphel was still overwhelmed slightly by the differences. In Mordor, there were no markets, or buying and selling for that matter. Everything had to do with war.

"The inn is over there. They should have a room available," Strider said. Azruphel jumped. She had not heard him approach. As he made his way towards the building at the far end of the street. Azruphel remained silent while Strider talked to the man at the counter, looking wide eyed at the many people talking, laughing, and drinking. She picked up snippets of conversation: a man was laughing about another's dog while a few tables over a young man was stumbling around singing a song. A more serious group was discussing a man named Boromir (Azruphel quickly recalled from a few of her lessons that Boromir was the son of the Steward). Strider must have heard the conversation as well, and he seemed to roll his eyes while the two men praised Boromir. The man behind the counter led them up to a room.

"You alright?" Strider asked once the man left their room, snapping Azruphel out of her thoughts.

"Yes. Yes, of course. Why do you ask?" she said a little too quickly.

"Well, ever since we arrived, you've had this look on your face. The best way to describe it would be nervous, or frightened," Strider said, choosing his words carefully.

"I feel out of place."

"And?"

"Fine! I am a little frightened. Happy?"

"I'm not unhappy," Strider said, smiling. Azruphel gave him a disgusted look and sat down on a bed. She finally took the time to survey the room. It was simple but comfortable, with a fireplace and a large window looking out on the street She would have preferred separate rooms, but she figured Strider had limited funds. At least, she noted, there are two beds.

"I know how you feel," Strider said.

"Do you?" Azruphel asked. "Have you ever left the one home you have ever known to the people that you have been raised to think were your enemies by a person you barely even know? And all of that because the very people you should have trusted lied to you about the very reason they are allied with Sauron-"

"Azruphel! Keep your voice down."

"Well, do you?"

Strider sighed. "No."

"I thought so." Azruphel turned around to face the window. "I'm sorry. Its just, this has happened really fast. I don't even know what I was thinking when I went with you."

Strider paused at that last statement. "What do you mean?"

"Nothing. Doesn't matter now, anyway."

Strider was worried, but decided to let the comment go.

***** Azruphel*****

The next morning, Strider decided to take Azruphel for a tour of the city, hoping to calm her down. It took an hour, but Azruphel eventually started to relax. Strider had even convinced her to leave her sword in their room, but noted with amusement that she still had a dagger. Later, Azruphel decided to check on Nightfall while Strider searched for a horse of his own. Azruphel walked into the stable, much calmer than she had been the previous day. Having Strider show her around had helped, along with constantly reminding herself that she wasn't around soldiers. She saw Nightfall at the end, and pulled an apple out of her bag. Azruphel smiled. She had been scared to talk to anyone in Minas Tirith, but Strider convinced her to buy an apple. After that, she had opened up a little, saying hello to someone if they said it to her or commenting on the weather. Not like this happened often, considering she looked like a he, and Strider told her that people usually avoided Rangers. The extent of her conversations were a few kind adults and one child who Azruphel believed had been dared to talk to them.

Lost in thought and stroking Nightfall, Azruphel did not notice the man walk up behind her and said, "That is a magnificent horse."

Azruphel spun around. The light-haired man behind her was wearing a uniform. A soldier! "What?"

"Your horse. He looks like he is Rohirrim, correct?"

"Uh, yes. I, uh, got him in Rohan." What are you doing? Act confident, Azruphel thought. Nightfall, as if sensing Azruphel's discomfort, flattened his ears at the man.

"I don't think he likes me. I'm sorry, I should have introduced myself. I am Faramir."

Faramir. She had heard the name before. "I am Faran."

"Faran, pleasure to meet you." He held out his hand, and Azruphel hesitated for a second before shaking it.

"Is this your first time in Minas Tirith?" Azruphel nodded. "Well then, welcome!"

"Thank you!"

"Are you staying long?"

"Not sure. Probably a day or two."

"Have you traveled much?"

This is getting a little personal, Azruphel thought. "No."

"First time away from home, huh?"

"You could say that." Why wouldn't this man leave her alone?

Faramir seemed distracted by something. He kept looking out the doors every few seconds. It was making Azruphel uncomfortable. Perhaps Faramir realized this.

"I apologize. I am trying to avoid the messengers my father sent to look for me." Then Faramir laughed. "I really shouldn't be ignoring him, but I just didn't feel like dealing with him today."

Azruphel turned towards Faramir. While she did not have much experience with the people of Gondor, she thought he was very strange.

"I am sorry. I should not be complaining to someone I just met." Azruphel did not know how to respond to that, but was saved when Strider walked in, leading a bay horse.

"Faran, we should probably leave tomorrow morning," Strider said. Faramir took this as his cue to leave.

"It was a pleasure meeting you, Faran. I hope you return to our city in the future." Azruphel smiled, and Faramir turned and left. Azruphel watched as, almost immediately, a man intercepted him with a message. Azruphel chuckled before turning to look at Strider.

"Do you know who that was?"

"Not really," Azruphel said. "He was just looking over the horses. Apparently Nightfall looks Rohirrim."

Strider laughed. "You were just talking to Faramir, the son of the Steward." Strider placed his horse in a stall next to Nightfall. "Nightfall, meet Brehan. Brehan, Nightfall. Be nice."

Both Azruphel and Strider watched as the two horses eyed each other before walking out of the stable, laughing.

"Wait," Azruphel said. "I thought Boromir was the Steward's son!"

"Boromir is the eldest, and the favorite. Everyone seems to forget about Faramir."

Suddenly, Strider's eye roll the previous day made sense. "Do you not like Boromir?"

"I do not know him very well, but I know his father."

Strider left it at that, but Azruphel had heard enough stories about Denethor. Strider's reaction must meant that the stories were, for the most part, true.

*****Azruphel*****

The next morning, when Azruphel and Strider left Minas Tirith, Azruphel had mixed feelings. Though she was still very uncomfortable around the people of Gondor, she had enjoyed seeing the city. In the end, she decided she felt sad to go.

"What are you thinking about?" Strider asked.

"I was thinking that Gondor isn't so bad after all."

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**A/N: **Please review!


	11. Journey to Rohan

I do not own _Lord of the Rings_, or any of Tolkien's characters. Any characters and plot lines I create are mine.

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**Chapter 11: Journey to Rohan**

"Where are we going now?" Azruphel asked when they were about an hour from Minas Tirith.

"Edoras. We should be there in a five or six days. Maybe less if we move quickly."

Azruphel nodded absentmindedly. Her mind was on another matter. Had the other Nazgûl noticed her extended absence? Where would they look? How long before they realized she was no where near Mordor?

While questions ran through Azruphel's head, she and Strider lapsed into a comfortable silence. In certain situations they had a conversation topic, like when they were laughing about troll stories or discussing Gondor. Now, with nothing but an expanse of grass-covered plains and a line of snow-capped mountains, they had nothing to discuss. Azruphel liked this area. It was quiet and simple. Riding across the plains was relaxing, not like side-stepping orc camps in Mordor or avoiding rangers in Ithilien. This was something she would do for fun. Even the occasional stream did not cause her to panic like she normally would. She did tense up, but Nightfall was more than happy to follow Brehan. It seemed, despite previous distaste, Nightfall and Brehan had become fast friends. Not unlike herself and Strider, Azruphel thought.

The wind whipped across the grass, and Azruphel shook her head to catch the wind in her hair. She was smiling and enjoying herself, completely unaware that next to her, a comment that she had made a few days before was eating away at Strider.

It wasn't until that evening that he got a chance to ask her. They had just started a fire when Strider brought up the awkward topic.

"What did you mean by not thinking when you left with me?"

At first, Azruphel did not know what Strider was talking about. Then she remembered making that comment.

"Uh, well, I... I don't know. Honestly, that is something my parents would say. Guess I picked up that little habit."

Trying to avoid the topic was not working on Strider. "What did you mean?"

"Alright, I kind of have a habit of running off when I get angry or annoyed over something, usually relating to one of the Nazgûl."

"How often have you run off?"

"Well, normally I am not gone for days. A few hours just to cool off is considered usual. Sometimes a day if I am really angry."

"Where do you go?"

"That depends on the situation. If I am looking for a break I will go find a few friends to duel or complain to."

"Friends?"

"More like _friend_," Azruphel said. "He is the orc that is in charge of one of the towers. We have a 'history,' you could say."

The two lapsed into an uncomfortable silence. Azruphel rarely talked about her childhood, mostly because she really didn't have anyone to talk to that didn't already know her.

It was Strider who broke the silence. "How did you two meet?"

"Well, I was really mad at my parents for a stupid reason. I wanted to be able to wander around on my own instead of always having someone following me-"

"Your parents were being restrictive?" Strider interrupted.

"I think they were afraid of what would happen if I came across an orc alone. Let's just say, being the only child in all of Mordor, I hated being treated differently. So one day I ran off and encountered Shagrat, who wasn't exactly pleased to see me."

"I can understand that."

"Well, there was an orc fight going on that I inadvertently got involved in, but I think I shocked Shagrat when, instead of running and hiding like I should have, I actually blocked a sword that headed in my direction."

"How old were you?"

"I don't remember. It happened a while ago. It wasn't a very good block, and the force of it may have caused me to fall down," Azruphel admitted. "I started combat training almost as soon as I could hold a small sword. Shagrat took pity on me and chopped the orc's head off before he could try again. After that we became friends. He even gave me fighting lessons until I got better than him. That's also where I got the name Shaataz. I was an honorary orc."

Strider raised his eyebrows in a look of shocked disbelief. "All of this happened because you were angry at your parents?"

"Yes."

"You must have been an interesting teenager."

Azruphel chuckled. "I suppose. I don't know any other teenagers to compare myself to, though."

With that, the conversation ended.

** ***Azruphel*****

A pattern began that would repeat itself over the next few days to Edoras. Azruphel and Strider would ride in silence, but at night they would talk. Strider was mostly interested in Azruphel's childhood. At first, Azruphel felt weird sharing the experiences, especially if the topics moved towards information about Mordor itself. She knew Strider would be curious about the fortresses and orc numbers in Mordor, so she steered the conversations away from such inquiries. Honestly, she did not know why. Perhaps it was lingering loyalty or habit from all of her training, but she made sure to keep the conversations about innocent experiences.

The one night, Strider asked her who her favorite Nazgûl was. Azruphel told him about Uvatha. She explained how Uvatha trained the ten horses in Minas Morgul and how she immediately connected with him.

"He was the nicest, and pretty much let me get away with anything," Azruphel said as a conclusion to her explanation of him. Strider was smiling.

"He sounds as though he would have been a good parent," Strider said.

"I considered all of them to be my parents. Father and Mother were not thrilled with that."

"Speaking of Father and Mother," Strider started, but then he paused.

"What?"

"I was just wondering," he said, "are they your parents? I mean your real parents."

Azruphel sighed. "You asked me this before. My answer remains the same."

"It still seems strange to me. I did not think wraiths would be able to have children."

Unlike the first time they had this conversation, Azruphel was much calmer about it. "I guess it seems a little strange. I was the only child, but..."

Strider waited for her to continue, but she didn't. "But what?"

"If they took me from somewhere else, I can understand why they would lie. No child would want to hear that they came from an enemy."

"You do appear to be Rohirrim."

"Is that why we are stopping at Edoras?"

"No, but if you want to search-"

"There is no point. I mean, where would we even start?" Azruphel said. "Besides, even if I tracked my parents down, what would I say?"

Strider did not have an answer. Azruphel unrolled a blanket, getting ready to sleep. Just when Strider thought she wasn't going to talk anymore, she continued.

"How do you tell two people that for all these years their child was raised by someone else, their enemy no less! I may not like it, but Khamûl and Adûnaphel made me who I am today, all of them did, and for that they are my parents. Nothing is going to change that."

Miles away, those parents were meeting again about the extended absence their daughter. The nine Nazgûl were waiting for an orc to bring the prisoner up from the dungeons to interrogate on what had happened. Specifically, they wanted to know what had caused Azruphel to snap.

The orc returned, alone. "I told you to bring the prisoner," Er-Murazor said. The orc cowered before the furious Nazgûl.

"I could not bring the prisoner. He is not there."

"What do you mean?" Khamûl asked.

"The prisoner and the prisoner's things are gone. The door was unlocked."

Er-Murazor was angry. "Get out." The orc did not need to be told twice. "Alright," Er-Murazor began, "the prisoner is nowhere to be found, and neither is Azruphel."

"She hasn't gone to any of the usual places, and none of us can sense her with the ring. She isn't wearing it," Khamûl said. "Wherever she is, she does not wish to be found."

"When I saw her, she looked like she was packed for several days. I did not see any sign of the prisoner," Adûnaphel added.

"She may have released him before leaving herself," Ren said.

"I don't understand. This does not sound like Azruphel," Akhorahil said. "I don't know her as well the rest of you, but she always seemed calm and dedicated."

"But when she was angry, she could be scary. I never saw her as angry as she was that day. I think she is capable of running away," Khamûl explained.

"Does Sauron know?" Akhorahil asked Er-Murazor.

"Yes. We need to find her and bring her back," Er-Murazor said. "All of us know her very well, but clearly she can still surprise us. Split into groups and scout around. We will meet a mile east of the crossroads in two days with any information we have."

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**A/N: **Please review!


	12. Growing Up Nazgûl

I do not own _Lord of the Rings_, or any of Tolkien's characters. Any characters and plot lines I create are mine.

**A/N:** Yes. It has been a while. No. I have no excuse. This chapter is extra long (though it does not make up for me being a bad updater).

Thanks bluedancingkittykat! You, perhaps unintentionally, gave me a plot bunny for this chapter.

I also have a new computer now that doesn't stink as much as my old computer. Of course, it doesn't know all the Tolkien words I need for this story. I have never seen so many red squiggly you-spelled-a-word-wrong lines in my life.

Obviously, I took an opportunity to go into Azruphel's childhood. I found this piece of a chapter in my files and decided to develop it for this update. It includes a snapshot from each of the nine Nazgûl. Don't worry! We will get back to Azruphel and Strider soon enough.

I did go back in the chapters and adjusted a few things. It is mostly just language and spelling errors. One thing I did do was change the name Strider went by in Minas Tirith. I had him using the name Thorongil, but it was pretty pointless. So he is just always Strider now.

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**Chapter 12: Growing Up Nazgûl**

**_Ren _**

Adûnaphel and Khamûl were foolish even to take a child, especially a toddler. The child was obviously not one of them. Imagine! A little two-year old blond girl wandering around Mordor on her own! He had objected to this, of course. He had objected to it when they first brought her back, he had spoken with Sauron for hours about it, but after everything that had occurred, Adûnaphel got her way. Khamûl must have done it for her, from what Uvatha had told him, Khamûl wanted to leave her. And of course Adûnaphel went and named the girl Azruphel. Once she had a name, it was clear she was staying.

He had avoided the girl for months, only seeing her every once in a while. Adûnaphel showered the child with affection, and Khamûl started to as well. The other Nazgûl were getting to know her. Even Uvatha, his friend for years upon years, seemed to like her. In fact, one day Ren had gone to the stables only to seen Uvatha giving Azruphel a ride on his horse! From then on, he avoided the other Nazgûl whenever they talked about Azruphel. Whoever this girl was, she was nothing like them and never would be.

It was in March that he finally had a conversation with Azruphel. Adûnaphel decided it would be her birthday, since it was almost a year since they had found her. While her 'parents' were busy doing who knows what, Azruphel had wandered up to him.

"Hi!"

He turned around slowly, knowing it was her. He had never formally met her beyond Adûnaphel's introductions.

"What's your name?" the girl asked. Strange, the girl could had no way of seeing his true form under the dark cloaks but could tell that she had never met him before.

"I am called Ren."

"I'm Azruphel!" she said. Ren kept thinking about how energetic the girl was. It was a shame she wasn't afraid of him like most humans were.

"Nice to meet you, Azruphel. Now if you excuse me, I must be going."

"Mommy says I'm three today! I was two, but now Mommy says I am three."

Ren sighed. He was not going to be able to break away from the little girl easily.

"How old are you?" Azruphel asked.

Ren tried to look as menacing as possible, even though he knew it would not work on Azruphel. "I must be going!"

Azruphel giggled, _giggled_, at him. Ren had been taken by surprise before, but never like this. "Please!" she whined in a rather annoying way. "How old are you?"

Ren finally obliged, in a way. "Much older than three."

"Am I going to be as old as you?"

No knowing what other response to give, he said, "One day."

Azruphel's face lit up. "I'm going to tell Mommy! I'm going to tell her that I will be as old as you!" Azruphel turned to run back down to the hall. Ren repressed a chuckle. He still was unsure about the girl, but he was starting to warm up to her.

**_Hoarmurath _**

Khamûl and Adûnaphel wanted Azruphel to learn everything she could. Therefore, she needed a teacher in pretty much everything. Hoarmurath knew Azruphel from the first few days since she came to Mordor, and really liked her. She was energetic, excited, and incredibly smart. The last he learned when Khamûl asked him to teach her languages and history.

To say Azruphel was simply smart was an understatement. Azruphel had the ability to almost soak up language. By the time Azruphel was five, she was fluent in several languages. She loved history. Hoarmurath was sure to teach her as much as he could. He taught her elvish history and about Númenor. He hated lying to her about the rings, but he went with the story Er-Murazor commanded. Sauron offered them the rings, they willingly took them, knowing what they were doing and who they were taking them from, and joined Mordor because it was the best. He hated how Azruphel took the information in complete faith. He told her that the dwarves were too concerned with riches, even though they had pledged themselves to Sauron. They had been greedy and paid for that greed, and Sauron had the three rings that were left.

"One of those rings will go to you when you are old enough," he said.

Azruphel looked down, almost unhappy.

"What's wrong?" Hoarmurath asked. "Do you not want a ring of power?"

"No, I do. I am just afraid."

"Afraid of what?"

"What if I become like the dwarves. It is one of their rings, after all. What if I become greedy and only care about gold?"

"You won't."

"How do you know?"

"It is the person that makes the ring, not the ring that makes the person. Dwarves were already greedy and obsessed with gold. The ring added to that. You are not greedy now. You will be nothing like them."

Azruphel looked relieved after that, but Hoarmurath was afraid. Azruphel, unlike the rest of them, actually knew what she would enter into when she took the ring. It took years for them to fade, but Hoarmurath wondered if it would take less time for Azruphel.

_**Dwar**_

He knew Azruphel. Not that well, obviously, but well enough. He was not a close friend of Khamûl or Adûnaphel, so he did not see her very often. He did not hate her like Ren used to. He had been rather busy over the years, and only saw her a few times. That, of course, was until Azruphel turned six. That was when all of them started paying more attention to Azruphel.

It started when he heard her screaming. She was screaming for Khamûl. Dwar knew he wasn't there. Er-Murazor had requested his presence to discuss Gondor. As far as he knew, no one was anywhere near this particular corridor. He decided to investigate. What he saw would scare him forever.

An orc was pushing Azruphel's head into a bucket full of water. She was struggling, trying to get away, but the orc was too strong. The orc was just laughing.

Without any hesitation, Dwar drew is sword and charged the orc. The orc looked up for a second, eyes widening, before Dwar stabbed him.

When he pulled Azruphel out of the water, she was shaking. She was trying to say something, and Dwar had to lean in close to hear it.

"Dad?"

"No, Azruphel. Khamûl is not here. I am Dwar."

Azruphel became very emotionally distant after that. Everyone was concerned. All orcs were warned of torture and death if they even thought of touching Azruphel. For weeks, Azruphel could not look at a bucket of water or a stream without shaking. For a year, she would not approach anything large enough to be submerged in. Eventually, she calmed down, but she refused to walk in a stream or get her head wet. The Nazgûl followed her everywhere, and Azruphel seemed fine with that. It wasn't until the one day when she wandered off on her own that they knew she would be alright. They were worried sick, of course, but in the end they were relieved.

_**Adûnaphel**_

Ever since Azruphel became her daughter, Adûnaphel had changed. She became softer, more open, and even, to a point, caring when it came to Azruphel. It started when Azruphel called her 'Mommy' for the first time. Sharing the idea of 'parenting' with Khamûl was difficult, especially when Azruphel began to cling to Khamûl more and Adûnaphel less.

After she nearly drowned, Adûnaphel tried to bring Azruphel out of her shy demeanor. Often, they took trips away from Minas Morgul and the orcs to the wooded areas near the Anduin. They never made it as far as the Anduin; Azruphel's new fear of water made that impossible.

While Azruphel had been found at age two, Adûnaphel often forgot that she was completely human. She seemed, at times, almost Nazgûl. So, it came as a surprise to Adûnaphel when Azruphel stopped and it picked up a flower, one of the first of that year. At first, she did not ask what it was, just stared at it with a faint look of both recognition and confusion on her face.

"What is it?" Azruphel finally asked.

"That is a flower," Adûnaphel said cautiously. She did not understand Azruphel's behavior.

Azruphel stared at it some more before saying, "I have seen one before, but I do not know where."

Azruphel then got up and kept walking, leaving a fearful Adûnaphel behind. Later that night, when Adûnaphel went in Azruphel's room, she saw the flower sticking out between the pages of a book.

_**Ji Indur**_

Shortly after the 'incident' with six-year old Azruphel, Khamûl decided she needed more training, especially in self-defense. Khamûl was often busy doing tasks for Sauron, so he asked Ji Indur to teach her.

It was very difficult at first. Azruphel did not have the strength to do much of anything. They practiced together for years, using wooden sticks at first before moving up to short, light swords. Azruphel was a natural and was very coordinated. She was able to disarm Ji Indur repeatedly over the years. As she got older and her strength grew, he pushed her to the best of her ability.

Ji Indur also forged many of the swords used by the Nazgûl. After many years of practice, he began to forge a sword especially for her. It complimented her style, size, and strength. On her fifteenth birthday, he gave it to her. He had never seen her that happy before. It occurred to him later that he had not seen her that happy since.

_**Akhorahil**_

Akhorahil was one of the few Nazgûl in Minas Morgul who had training in healing. It was a useful skill, especially when dealing with Azruphel. While he dealt with the average bumps and scrapes of a child, he noticed Azruphel coming in with more injuries and more interesting explanations sometime after she turned thirteen.

"How did you get the scratch on your arm?" he asked as he placed a bandage on the injury.

There was a stretch of silence. She is making up a story, Akhorahil thought.

"I fell off a rock and hit a branch." The story was obviously false, but Akhorahil decided to play along.

"Really? Where?"

"Over near the crossroads. I was on that old, broken statue." For a quickly made up story, it was good. Except for one small detail.

"I did not see you leave. In fact, I was under the impression you never left Minas Morgul all day."

"You must have not seen me, then," Azruphel stated simply. Akhorahil knew better. As he finished bandaging the arm, Azruphel spoke again.

"Do not tell Khamûl. He worries too much." Akhorahil obliged, knowing that Khamûl's overprotective nature would not help Azruphel.

Over the next year, similar stories continued to arise. After the first encounter, Azruphel came prepared with her stories. She was getting better at improvising, too. Akhorahil knew better, of course, yet he continued to play along.

It wasn't until one day, two years after the first injury, that Akhorahil finally got the truth out of Azruphel. She stumbled into his quarters, which was the first hint that something was seriously wrong. Azruphel always walked with a calm, confident stride. Akhorahil could not see what was wrong until Azruphel turned, revealing the torn tunic on her back and the gash that was bleeding. It was not deep, but both Akhorahil and Azruphel knew the usual excuses would not work this time.

"How did this happen? And do not say that you tripped down the stairs. We both know you have been lying."

"You know, the one time I really did fall down the stairs-"

"Azruphel!"

"I was fighting some orcs. It is not a problem."

"I wouldn't call this injury 'not a problem'."

"I had limited space to twist away."

Akhorahil sighed. "How long have you been picking fights with orcs?"

"I would not call it 'picking fights'. A group of us have been practicing together for years."

"You are saying all of those injuries-"

"_Most, _of those injuries came from orcs. Yes."

Akhorahil considered all of the times Azruphel had come to see him. "Why go to the orcs? I thought Ji Indur was teaching you sword fighting."

"Ji Indur is teaching me how to fight one person in a formal way. I need to learn how to fight many, to fight without rules."

"Why not ask Khamûl? Or any of the Nazgûl?"

"They would never let me. Khamûl probably wants me to wait until I am like you before I even see a fight," Azruphel sarcastically snorted.

While meant as a joke, Akhorahil knew there was some truth to Azruphel's last statement.

_** Uvatha**_

Azruphel was reckless. There was no other way to describe her, in Uvatha's opinion. He knew about most of Azruphel's adventures, because sometime between her first horseback ride and her sword fighting with orcs, she and Uvatha became very close. When she was younger, she referred to him as Uncle Uvatha, much to the annoyance of Khamûl.

Azruphel pushed herself to the physical limit, often sacrificing at the risk of her health. That is how Uvatha found her one day, at age seventeen.

As he walked into the stable, he noticed Azruphel riding her horse. No, not just riding, standing on the saddle. Both feet were planted where she _should_ have been sitting, and Uvatha noticed her legs shaking as she cantered past. Clearly, this was not her first attempt at the trick, and as the pair approached a stack of hay, Azruphel leaped off the horse's back, neatly landing in it. She surfaced, holding a piece of dark red cloth, and smiled.

Her horse returned to her, and Azruphel laughed. "About time!" she laughed, laying back down in the hay and breathing hard. This is when Uvatha decided to approach.

"What do you think you were doing?" he asked. Azruphel was startled, quickly leaping out of the pileand standing in front of Uvatha.

"I was trying a new trick!"

"By leaping off your horse?"

"It's fine. I'm fine."

"You could have hurt yourself! What was this 'trick' if I may ask?"

Azruphel heaved a sigh before saying, "I wanted to see if I could jump out of the saddle and grab this flag." She held up the piece of red cloth.

"Why?"

"Because I could."

_**Er-Murazor**_

The day Azruphel received her ring was a proud day for everyone. Er-Murazor had deemed her ready, with the approval of Sauron. The group of nine was about to become ten. It was the first step towards the eventual goal of giving the dwarf rings to men. The dwarves did not deserve rings of power. It was time the rings were given to those more worthy of being Sauron's servants.

No one knew what would happen when Azruphel took the ring. This was the second part of the experiment. If it worked, Azruphel would quickly come under Sauron's control, if not immediately, then in a few years. The ring had been reshaped to fit her finger, but still retained its original power. Sauron himself appeared in a form that day, and presented the newest Nazgûl with her ring.

It was as if the entire group drew a collective breath as the ring was slipped on. Azruphel closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The others could feel the shift in the power surrounding Azruphel, as her presence was added to their senses. She did not immediately fade, just as they had not, but there was a new confidence in her. She opened her eyes, smiled, and said four words.

"I can see you."

_** Khamûl**_

One day, in April of the year 3016, Azruphel ran away. Just weeks after turning nineteen, the girl who had been a success was now missing. For whatever reason, she had lost faith in him and the other Nazgûl. They had not seen it coming.

On that day, the Nazgûl met and discussed what they had learned of Azruphel's movements. Khamûl himself had cornered a traveler leaving Minas Tirith. After much 'persuasion' the traveler revealed that a girl matching Azruphel's description and a man had stayed at an inn several days ago. The man did not know where they went.

As he reported this to the others, Khamûl had to wonder about Azruphel. He did not think she would ever do this. But, then again, maybe he didn't know her at all.

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**A/N:** Please favorite, follow, or review. It helps me remember to update.


	13. Edoras

I do not own _Lord of the Rings_, or any of Tolkien's characters. Any characters and plot lines I create are mine.

**A/N:** This chapter may be a bit boring. Sorry, but it is one of those necessary chapters that is required to move the plot along. I already wrote the next chapter. I will post it as soon as I am done reviewing and editing.

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**Chapter 13: Edoras**

Across the plain, the hill and the city that stood upon it were clearly visible for miles. Azruphel did not need Strider to point it out. She did not know what to think of the city. Khamûl always complained about it being simplistic and rural. Uvatha agreed that it was simple, but it was also reflective of the lifestyle of the people. According to him, the people there raised the best horses in the area. Azruphel knew this would cloud Uvatha's judgment of the people. As they approached, Azruphel hoped she would be able to forget everything she was told and, for once, form her own opinion of Rohan. Strider did not plan to stay at Edoras for very long, but he had hinted that he would be willing to stay a few days longer if she wished.

Azruphel's first impression, as they reached the gate of Edoras, was not the same as when she had arrived in Minas Tirith. Edoras was smaller and less of a spectacle. Minas Tirith was meant to impress and intimidate. However, with more people, Minas Tirith had seemed lively and active. Edoras was calm and quiet.

It seemed that the city had a least one inn, though smaller than the one at Minas Tirith, and a stable for the horses. Nightfall and Brehan seemed happy, Nightfall especially. Azruphel knew that the horses in Mordor did not come from Mordor. It seemed that Nightfall found where he came from. Azruphel still was not sure. She did not feel as though she fit in, despite the attractions of the simple life of the Rohirrim. Uvatha would have considered the place a paradise. In a way, Azruphel did, too. It wasn't busy, noisy, or demanding. Just peaceful.

Azruphel introduced herself as Faran, Strider, whatever his real name was, remained Strider. After getting a room and supper, Strider remained in the sitting area in the downstairs while Azruphel went upstairs and went to bed. She did not want to talk about anything that night.

*****Azruphel*** **

Strider was sleeping when Azruphel woke up. Not knowing what else to do, she decided to explore Edoras. For the most part, there were houses. A very small market was starting to open up. A few people were bringing in horses from a field just outside the gates. Seeing the horses reminded Azruphel of her own. She wondered if there was a place she could turn Nightfall loose for a few hours. As she neared the stables, there was a slight commotion. Hoping it wasn't Nightfall that was causing the problem, Azruphel picked up the pace.

It was not her horse that was the problem, but it was a horse. A chestnut charged out of the stable, the saddle hanging off the side and a woman chasing the horse a few meters behind. People darted out of the way of the scared horse, which was a difficult task considering the horse wasn't running in one direction. Azruphel could tell it wasn't looking to escape, more trying to get rid of the saddle if the bucking was anything to go by. As the horse changed direction yet again, this time coming in the direction of Azruphel, she decided what to do. With a quick reminder to herself to speak in Common, Azruphel raised both her arms towards to charging horse and said, in her most commanding voice, "Stop!"

Her voice got the attention of the crowd, or perhaps the sight of the frightened horse sliding to halt did it. Either way, the area was silent as Azruphel moved forward until she was close enough to remove the saddle. She was right about the cause of the disturbance, as the horse seemed to relax as soon as it was taken away, the heavy breathing being the only indication that something was ever wrong. She started to stoke the horse and speak to it in a calming voice when the woman caught up.

"Are you alright? I am so sorry! I do not know what got into him!"

"I am fine. Check the saddle, I think that was the cause of his behavior," Azruphel said.

"Thank you so much! How can I repay you?"

"It is not necessary-"

"Yes, it is. What is your name?"

Azruphel gave the slightest hesitation before saying, "Faran."

"Faran. My name is Éowyn. Are you from around here? I have not seen you before."

"I am just travelling through Rohan with a friend." Azruphel thought about her words right after saying them. She supposed that, by now, she and Strider were friends.

Éowyn smiled. "You and your friend are invited for dinner. As thanks for what you have done," she added when Azruphel started to protest.

Suddenly, both women heard someone shout the name 'Faran' in the crowd. They turned at the same time to see Strider walking towards them.

*****Azruphel*****

Strider woke to the sound of yelling and a missing Azruphel. The shouts from outside quickly died down, but Strider stood and made his way outside. He did not expect to see Azruphel in the center of the now dispersing crowd, along with a woman and a chestnut horse.

"Faran!" he called, remembering to use Azruphel's travelling name. Both women turned towards him, and he was taken aback by the two of them together.

Azruphel and this other woman looked the same. Had he seen them separately, he probably would have missed it due to their different hair and dressing styles. Azruphel dressed like a man, while this woman had on a long dress. The woman's hair came down in long waves of golden blonde, while Azruphel's hair was cut to a shorter length and of a very dark blonde color. Those differences almost distracted Strider from seeing the many similarities. Their faces were same, their heights were exact. If Azruphel's hair was longer, she would look just like the other.

"Strider!" Azruphel called, shaking him out of his thoughts. "This is Éowyn."

After the two of them exchanged greetings, Éowyn said, "I have invited Faran for dinner as thanks for helping me today. You are welcome to join us." When Strider began to refuse and make excuses, she continued. "It is no trouble! It is just my brother and myself tonight. My uncle and cousin are away."

Strider snuck a glance at Azruphel to make sure she was comfortable with the sudden change of plans. She caught his eye and nodded, so Strider made his decision. "I would be happy to join you."

"Wonderful! I will meet you at the inn later this afternoon."

After Éowyn was out of earshot, Azruphel turned to Strider and asked, "Is it normal to invite a person to dinner after that person catches a runaway horse?"

"It is normal to do something nice for a person when a person does something nice for you," Strider said, chuckling at Azruphel's attempt to understand other people.

Azruphel and Strider then walked around Edoras, despite the fact that Azruphel had already explored the majority of the city. They decided to stay at least two nights to give their horses, and themselves, a rest. Later, they returned to the inn to wait for Éowyn. When she arrived, she led them up the hill, going past many of the houses towards the Golden Hall. Curious about their destination, Azruphel decided to ask.

"Where do you live?"

"I live in the Golden Hall. I suppose I should have mentioned earlier that my uncle is King Théoden. He is with his son tonight, away from Edoras. There is my brother, Éomer!"

Strider saw a man standing a little way up the hill. As they got closer, he could see traits of the girl travelling with him in the other man.

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**A/N:** Before anyone asks, I did not know how I was going to introduce Théoden, Éomer, and Éowyn in the same chapter. So, I didn't and sent one of them away. I don't know where he is, but he isn't home. Please review.


	14. Éoryn

I do not own _Lord of the Rings_, or any of Tolkien's characters. Any characters and plot lines I create are mine.

**A/N: **So, yeah. Here we are. This is a chapter I am a bit nervous about.

On another note, I JUST BOUGHT A SWORD! Yeah.

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**C****hapter 14: Éoryn**

If Azruphel felt uncomfortable during the dinner, Strider could not tell. Before meeting with Éowyn, they agreed on a story. Strider a traveler from Gondor looking to get away from the conflicts of living near Mordor. He met 'Faran' on the road, who left a small village because there was nothing left to stay for. Easy enough to pretend for an evening.

Strider quickly discovered that Azruphel could create any story, and let her take the lead when they were asked questions. She was good at remembering details about the life she created. There was a confidence that existed which was never displayed when Azruphel spoke about her life to Strider. It seemed she was better at lying than telling the truth.

"Forgive me for asking, but isn't Faran normally a man's name?" Éomer asked soon after they arrived. While Azruphel had succeeded in pretending to be a man in Gondor, both she and Strider knew the act would not last through a dinner. Therefore, they simply stopped pretending.

"It is. That is why I chose it," Azruphel said, laughing. "I did not want to appear as the lone woman on the road. I was dressing like a man, so I gave myself a man's name, too. It was… easier… that way."

That was Azruphel's secret to keeping up with a story. She was excited, enthusiastic, kind, and funny, but at times she would let sadder emotions through before switching back to the happiness. And, of course, it was mostly true. She did change her name to make the task of disappearing much easier.

'Faran's' father was a horse trainer in the Eastfold. Her mother was never around. Azruphel implied that the mother was dead. She was an only child and often rode horses with her father. He became sick about a year ago and died shortly after. Nineteen year old Faran did not want to stay at the small farm outside the village. She sold it and most of the horses except her own and traveled west.

"I do not think my father would have wanted me to stay there all alone," she concluded, and Strider even believed it for a second. He could not help but wonder if this 'father' was based on one of the Nazgûl. He was willing to bet it was not Khamûl.

"Enough about me. How did you end up living in the Golden Hall?"

"We have always lived here, as my mother's brother is King Theoden," Éomer explained. "Our father, Éomund, worked to protect our lands from raiding orcs, though he would often return to Edoras and visit us." There were emotions in Éomer's words that implied a lack of visits for a long time. Azruphel was thankful when it was Strider that prompted the continued explanation.

"What happened?"

"He was killed, by who we do not know. Close to Edoras, too." Éomer paused for a long time, before continuing with the story. "We had a sister, named Éoryn. Father took her on a ride to a horse pasture. Later, his horse came back and some men went out to look for them. Both were dead."

Everyone was silent at the end of the tale, until Éomer spoke again. "She would have been nineteen, same age as you, Faran."

After that, the conversation switched to a lighter tone, but there still remained a hint of sadness that lingered until Azruphel and Strider left later that evening.

The next day, Azruphel went to see Nightfall. While she was there, she saw Éomer again. Hoping to avoid him, she ducked into the stall. However, it was too late, and Éomer approached.

"I wanted to apologize if I made you and Strider uncomfortable with the story yesterday," he began without preamble. "I can't help but feel that everyone was in a somber mood after."

"It is alright," Azruphel said quietly. "And I was the one who started to ask about your life."

"Still," he continued, "I should not have-"

"Éomer," Azruphel said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Do not worry about it." She smiled at Éomer, and he began to relax. As she turned back, Éomer asked, "Do you want to go for a ride?"

Azruphel thought about it for a second. "Sure."

Éomer walked to another stall and led a grey horse out. "This is Firefoot." The horse looked at Nightfall, who Azruphel introduced.

They talked a bit about their horses and training. Azruphel told Éomer about some of the stunts she pulled while riding. Éomer told her how he chose Firefoot and learned to ride him. Azruphel based Faran's father off of Uvatha, and the act worked well. They ended up riding near a field of small, white flowers. Azruphel did not think anything of it until Éomer stopped in front of a mound. Turning Nightfall around, Azruphel dismounted when she saw Éomer do so.

"I did not realize we had ridden this way," he said when she joined him. "This is his grave. Éomund, my father."

Azruphel stared at what she previously thought was a mound, but what was really a grave. "And Éoryn?"

"We consider it her grave. You see, we never found a body. We do not know what happened to her." He went silent then, but the memories had upset him. Then, Azruphel knew how to proceed. She did what Uvatha had always done.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

He sighed. "Father came home around March. Éoryn was two. She liked watching the horses in a field not too far from here. He took her there, and they never came back. I think he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. A few of the horses had been stolen, a few of the black ones. For a few years, servants of Mordor would steal black horses. He must have tried to fight. If I am right, whatever happen to Éoryn was not good."

Azruphel was glad when Éomer turned away. He would not see how pale she was after hearing the story. After a few minutes, she asked, "What was she like?"

"She was always happy, excited. She, like most people here, loved horses and going for rides. She was born November 5th, two years after Éowyn. She was blonde, but it was darker than Éowyn's."

Azruphel let him trail off, and they both stared at the grave for a while before she said, "We should go back."

Éomer nodded. "Yes. I suppose we should, Faran."

Azruphel started to leave, but then turned back to face Éomer.

"My name is Azruphel. I figure, after everything you have told me, you should know my name, at least." And with the, she mounted Nightfall and cantered away.

When Azruphel returned to her room, Strider was waiting for her. He did not notice how upset she looked before asking, "Where have you been?"

"I went for a ride with Éomer."

"Both he and his sister are very kind," he said. Then, "You look like her, you know. Éowyn."

"I want to leave."

"What?" Strider said, surprised. "Why?"

"I just… want to leave tomorrow."

For the first time since Strider began to question her parentage, she thought he could be right. So, Azruphel did what she was good at, what she had always done. She decided to run.

* * *

**A/N:** Don't hate me, please, for having her run away from family and stuff. But hey! The story gets to continue this way. Please review.


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